The Elusive Mr Cullen
by dariachenowith
Summary: Bella is a high class escort, Edward her newest client. They soon realize that there's more between them than great sex and witty conversations. While Bella doesn't believe in fairy tales, her life seems to be turning into one fast. Or is it? AH/OOC
1. Chapter 1

**Updated A/N Dec 2015: I have turned the plot of this fic into a book - Hunter & Prey by Kira Barker (link is in my profile, if you're curious). Don't worry, the fic will stay online. But if you want to support me, now you know how you can :) Now please enjoy this story!**

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><p><strong>Welcome to one of my two new multi chapter fics!<strong>

**Before we start, I would like to say a couple of things, mostly for those who are not yet familiar with what I write. Please take the 'OOC' in the story description seriously – when I say 'out of character', I usually mean that I'm writing more or less original characters who happen to look like their twi counterparts, but often turn out quite differently (for example, in ABD Emmett is at one point the voice of reason, and I strongly believe that Bella can have a backbone). If you're looking for a story that runs closer to the original books, please read something else. I'm also fond of plot twists and complicated, layered characters, and one thing I'm really bad at as fluffy romance.**

**I usually update my fics at FFn, TWCS and my google sites archive, you can find the links on my blog – .com, or on my facebook page 'Daria Chenowith Fanfic'. I also have a personal fb account under 'Daria Chenowith'.**

**Many, many thanks to Wendy for being a wonderful beta, and L and C for kickass cheerleading, helping me come up with and plot this entire fic in just one weekend.**

**TEMC also has its own banner, made for me by the very talented vbfb1 – you can find it on my blog and my FFn & TWCS profiles, please also check out the other fabulous banners she has created (link to them also on my FFn profile and blog)**

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><p>Women are complicated. Men are easy. I prefer easy. That's why I'm a whore.<p>

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><p>As always, I take my time primping. Manicure, pedicure, waxing every required part of my body until it's free of hair and soft as a baby's bottom, scrubbing, moisturizing, the whole deal. I've never been a girly girl, but I know how to clean up well.<p>

Lace and silk underwear, stay-up stockings, heels, a tailored, conservative yet sexy dress. Just enough makeup to appear classy, hair pulled up into a flawless chignon, a purse to match both the shoes and dress, and I'm ready to go.

Rose is already waiting for me at our usual table at the restaurant, sipping a Mimosa she keeps scrolling through her BlackBerry. She looks up when she hears me approach, a cordial smile on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"You're late."

"I'm five minutes early!" I protest. She only has a wry grin for that, and ignores me.

Swallowing my irritation I take the seat across from her, then order some mineral water from the waiter. By the time my drink arrives Rose is still occupied, deliberately letting me stew, but after years of knowing her, I'm used to this by now. She always seems to feel the need to put me in my place, but if the worst she has to offer is ignoring me for ten minutes, I will survive.

When she finally deigns to acknowledge me she puts her phone away, then takes a sip from her Mimosa.

"This one should be interesting. Very specific demands, but right down your alley."

"Spoiled, rich kid?" I venture a guess. Somehow she always ends up giving me the difficult ones.

"Not quite, but he did make his first million by age 24, or so they say."

"So money's not a problem?"

"When is it ever, darling?" she drawls, her smile turning a hint more genuine. When she falls silent, I take the bait.

"You said his demands were specific? How so?"

"Hair and eye color, college education, above average intelligence, class."

I find it a bit strange that she doesn't mention looks or age, but I've had my fair share of clients whose interests lie outside of the conventional demands.

"So he has a type and wants his perfect woman for the evening to be able to lead a conversation. I hope you're not going to charge him extra for not appearing like an ass but acting like a gentleman."

Her smile takes on a slight edge.

"We didn't agree on a rate yet. I told him what we charge as a standard fee, and he said he wants to discuss the specifics with you. You know what that usually means?"

I sigh, the flutter of excitement I briefly felt disappearing fast.

"Anal or something kinky, and he wants to book me for the weekend. Maybe I should have worn latex instead?"

Rose simply inclines her head, then slides a business card across the table. Her neat handwriting spells out an address in the old part of town, very posh, no dashes between the numbers. Strangely enough, no name, but it happens.

"I hope you did a background check on him, seeing as you're so eager to send me straight into the lion's den."

"That goes without saying," Rose replies haughtily. "He's clean. Not money-made-it-all-go-away clean, but hard-working-ambitious-business-man clean. A few traffic violations, but most of his track record is comprised of academic and business-related achievements, and some charity work. Never been married, and from the lack of information about previous women in his life, I take it that this is not the first time he has contacted an agency."

As expected, and nothing out of the ordinary. Although I try to stay open-minded, I already know how this - I check the card she's given me again – Mr. C will look. Well dressed, well groomed, good manners and a trim body if I'm lucky, and depending on his age, possibly a slight pouch. The hint of secrecy makes me weary; I suspect he's going to ask for something sick or at least weird, but maybe he is just a very private person and doesn't like my nosy pimp writing down too many details in his file.

Most likely he will be bland and boring. That's usually why they ask for a well-educated woman, so the girl can start, carry on and end the required conversation all by herself. Or he's a driven egomaniac who wants someone smart enough to know how to praise his greatness without sounding like a fawning, star-struck girl. I've dealt with too many men of either cut to even blink at the implications. They're usually easy to read and even easier to satisfy. Once the time for talking is over, they all want to same thing anyway.

"Anything else?"

Rose makes as if to reach for her BlackBerry again, presumably to check, but I know that she has all the details memorized to a T.

"Not that I am aware of. He didn't want to know your name or credentials, even asked me specifically not to tell him. Slightly creepy, if you ask me."

I wonder if I should take that remark seriously, or if she is just dropping it to add a hint of mystique to this otherwise business-as-usual deal.

"I'm sure he had a perfectly good reason for that."

"He's the client, he gets what he pays for. Now shoo, he's expecting you at seven sharp. Your cab is already waiting."

I accept her dismissal for what it is, and get up after a last dainty sip of my water. I've already turned around to leave when she calls after me.

"And Bella? Don't even think about screwing me over. You know I get my cut, and just because I have no idea what I will be getting 30 percent of, doesn't mean you can lie to me."

I wonder what has made her so exceptionally cranky today, but I shrug it off as part of her usual charm. Rose is all bark and seldom bites, but she's always been there for me when I've needed her.

"You do know that just because I'm a professional whore it doesn't automatically mean that I'm a professional crook as well, right?"

This time her smile is real, and I continue towards the door donning one of my own. The cab is indeed already waiting for me, and I give the driver the address from the card. Some of my previous excitement returns the closer we get to our destination, mostly because I love meeting a client for the first time. There's so much potential and promise, and it's always fun to find out just what he wants.

The car stops in front of a house that can only be described as a mansion. Not the creepy, walled-off kind, but grand and an indication of wealth, nevertheless. There's only a number on the gate, no name. Before I get close enough to ring the bell, the cast iron door swings open, accompanied by the nearly inaudible buzz of electronics.

Slipping the card into my purse I straighten, then stride through the gate and towards the door with confidence in my step.

Only one way to find out who this elusive Mr. C is.

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><p><strong>And we're off to a great start, I hope!<strong>

**From now on TEMC will update on Tuesdays!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm completely blown away by the wonderful reception TEMC has gotten! Thank you all so much! It's simply amazing!**

**I wouldn't have been able to get this to you so fast without the help of some wonderful women – a huge thank you to AmeliaCullen1, Laydeamalthya, Wendy, L and C!**

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><p>The front door – real oak, no cheap veneer, I'm sure – opens as miraculously and as silently as the gate, but before I can enter, someone steps up to block my path.<p>

He is well dressed, wearing a conservative suit and tie, his short, brown hair cropped close to his head. It's hard to guess his age, something between thirty and forty, and while he fills his suit well, he has neither the air of a bodyguard nor an accountant, although for all I know he could be either. The most remarkable thing about him are his piercing blue eyes, and the hard stare he directs at me is making me vaguely uneasy. I'm used to being looked at because of my body, but that's not the sense I get from him.

"Whom should I announce?"

His voice is rich and dark yet lacks any kind of interest or warmth. No greeting, either, something I'm not accustomed to.

"Isabella Swan, I'm here for -"

"I think we both know why you are here, Miss Swan," he interrupts me, then steps away. The small bow and extended hand that bids me inside are immaculate gestures but somehow only serve to underline the rudeness of his behavior. I'm normally not a petty person, but something about him rubs me the wrong way.

"And may I ask who you are?"

He is obviously displeased that I'm speaking instead of entering the house, but after a moment he straightens and I even get an answer.

"My name is James. If you haven't guessed yet, I'm the butler."

James the butler? I have to fight hard not to grin, but he's not the kind of guy who would appreciate that, I think. In a way, he even fits the stereotype, although I can't quite shake off the sense that he's also the kind of butler you'd accuse of being the murderer in a mystery novel. Even if it was the gardener.

I try to be gracious as I nod in turn end enter, jumping slightly when he closes the door behind me with a little more emphasis than strictly necessary.

"If you will please follow me?"

He doesn't wait for my acknowledgement but turns around and walks up a flight of stairs, forcing me to hurry after him before I have had enough time to appreciate the lavish luxury of the rooms inside.

It isn't hard to guess that the interior matches the exterior, but from what I can see the entire house has a very unique character. Dark, polished wood everywhere, lush carpets in rich colors, tasteful paintings on the walls that I'm sure are originals and cost more than I will make in my entire life. It is all very high class yet at the same time not overdone, stylish but neither spartan nor pretentious.

Up the flight of stairs I manage to catch up to the butler, but he keeps walking just a tad too fast for my comfort. Over the years I've become used to a certain amount of hostility from employees and staff of clients, but that usually happens due to some ulterior motive like paranoia or jealousy. I doubt the butler has the hots for his employer, and considering they had me show up here in their home I think I'm the one more entitled to be suspicious. As it is, I'm not a little girl who scares easily, and I won't let something as inconsequential as a rude butler throw me off balance.

The butler finally stops at the end of a broad hallway in front of a set of mahogany double doors. He knocks but doesn't enter, and I take a moment to compose myself. Seconds pass, then a muffled male voice can be heard from inside the room.

"Yes?"

"You have company, Sir," the butler answers, still not opening the door. "A Miss Swan is here to see you."

I can't help but be surprised that he hasn't said something like, 'The whore is here,' but apparently his hostility only extends towards me.

"Thank you, James. One moment please."

I wait patiently, even when the 'moment' stretches into a minute, then two. The butler keeps scrutinizing me but his gaze doesn't make me fidget. I'm slowly but surely getting the impression that this is a test of sorts. I have no idea why, and I also don't care, but I seem to have passed when the door swings open a minute later, revealing the mysterious man behind the voice and the 'C' on the address card.

He's in his mid-thirties, tall, trim, attractive, very easy on the eye, but it's his obvious confidence that draws me in. I like men who know what they want, and it only takes a second to see that he is definitely one of them. He's wearing tailored, dark slacks and a light blue shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, casual but obviously part of his business suit. His hair is short and artfully arranged in that deliberately tousled way that so many men think makes them appear youthful and sexy, but for him it's actually working. In the dim light of the hallway it's impossible to say if the light shade of reddish brown is his real hair color or not, but it fits his green eyes.

As he looks at me his gaze is intent but warm, and he offers me a smile that lights up his eyes as he steps back and makes a sweeping gesture with his hand.

"Please come in."

I smile in return, holding my head high as I pass the butler, who is still scowling at me. He closes the door behind me and walks around to the desk on the other side of the room, remaining standing, while I follow him at a more leisurely pace. He offers me his hand then, something that not many men do but I appreciate the gesture, and his handshake is firm but warm.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Swan. I'm Edward Cullen."

Ah, so the elusive Mr. C has a name after all. I usually only use my client's given name, but some prefer an alias. I don't care either way. It is not my job to check their credentials. The agency does that for me.

"Isabella Swan." I offer my full name. He signals at the leather chair in front of the desk for me to take a seat, then waits until I'm sitting before he does the same. I like his manners, but they don't surprise me. Most men who want more than a blowjob for twenty bucks at the next street corner behave like gentlemen, at least at first. There are always exceptions, but my price includes taking insults when the client gets off on calling me a 'dirty whore' or something similar. I don't peg him as one of those, though, he seems to value class, also in himself.

He's studying me again, leaning back in his chair with his fingers pushed together on front of him, musing. I keep a pleasant smile on my face and wait a few seconds, giving him enough time to think but starting a conversation before it can grow awkward. No one wants awkward, and there's probably a reason why he specifically asked for an intelligent, educated woman.

"I was told that you wanted to settle the details with me personally rather than through the agency, Mr. Cullen?"

"Please call me Edward," he replies, his smile widening. His eyes never leave my face once I start talking. "And yes, I wanted to meet you first."

I can't say why exactly but his easy smile and casual way is infectious, so instead of staying all business, I allow myself a little joke.

"Wanting to take a closer look at the merchandise first before you seal the deal?"

Now his smile turns into a grin, easily ripping five years off his face, and he inclines his head.

"I'd like to think of myself as a man of refined taste who knows what he wants. I haven't gotten to where I am with blind faith. I hope that doesn't offend you?"

"Of course not," I reply, then settle back deeper into the chair as I cross my legs, letting him see a little more thigh. "I like a man who is confident enough to stand by who he is and what he likes."

My words seem to amuse him but he tones down the grin, getting back to business.

"I will admit that I had ulterior motives in asking for you to come see me personally. I'm not only looking for a companion for one night, but would like to engage your services over a more extensive time frame, provided we get along well and you meet all of my requirements. For that I can't use a skittish little girl who's too afraid to even ring a door bell."

"So this is a test?"

The lack of surprise in my voice gets me another one of those dashing wider smiles. He seems to smile a lot. I like that in a man.

"It is. And so far you're passing with flying colors."

"Thank you," I nod graciously, allowing myself a wry grin that he mirrors. "But as you've probably heard, a lot of agencies also offer service for travel and business trips. It would be all but impossible to engage in that without a modicum of trust that I won't end up strangled in a ditch somewhere. You could find an easier victim for a much cheaper price."

"Good to know," he takes my joke in stride, then pushes a paper towards me that he turns around with a quick flick of his wrist so it is facing me with the script the right way up. "I'm sure you have signed confidentiality agreements like this one before. It's not for tonight, but if we decide to do business I require your utmost discretion. I understand that you will want to take it with you and have it looked at by the lawyer of your confidence. Please return it to me the next time you grace my house with your presence."

Not everyone requires forms like these, but the contract I have with the agency is probably more restricting in the first place anyway. I don't bat a lash at it, but don't take it, either, leaving my hands folded in my lap.

"You said I won't need it for tonight, so why don't we wait until tomorrow to worry about it. If you're not satisfied with me you don't have to worry about me holding on to anything relating to you?"

"I'm not worried," he states, and I believe him, but when I still don't make a move to pick up the paper he nods and withdraws it again. "Very well, then let's move on. Please tell me a little about you, Isabella. May I call you Isabella?"

My wry smile from before surfaces again, only now with a lot more humor in it.

"You may call me whatever you want to."

My slightly seductive drawl earns me a chuckle.

"What would you prefer me to call you, then?"

I take a moment to consider, then push on towards the casual route that has worked well so far. He obviously wants more than eye candy with a college degree.

"Isabella is fine, but on a more intimate level, just between us, you can call me just Bella."

I immediately see that he appreciates the offer. He languidly rubs his chin, his eyes once again studying me.

"I think I'd like to do that very much, Bella."

Accepting that with a nod, I relax a bit more into the chair, letting my body signal that I feel at ease around him.

"What do you want to know about me?"

He thinks about that for a moment.

"How old are you?"

"28."

He seems surprised at my quick answer.

"Really? Most women lie about their age. I'm surprised you're so honest."

The fact that he is equally honest with me and doesn't try to bullshit me by telling me I look younger, which I don't, is equally refreshing.

"You don't pay me to lie to you. At least I don't think you do?"

"Not when it comes to your age, no."

The way he says those words, their implication quite clear, teases another smile from me.

"What else?"

"You went to college?"

"I have a MSc in Sociology and a BA in Economics and Management."

"That's an interesting combination. Why did you choose it?"

I consider what to tell him, then decide to stick with the truth.

"Because both interest me. I think both will aid me in finding a different job when I decide to quit my current one, but most of all because my current employment leaves me with enough flexibility to attend courses and money to pay the tuition fees."

Again he values my honesty, but nods to indicate the topic has been discussed enough.

"What exactly do you offer in your current line of employment? I understand why your agency is very clear about not spelling out the specifics, but I think now is as a good a time as any to lay out what I can ask for, and what not."

Part of me wants to crack the joke about the twenty buck blowjob again but the intensity of his gaze keeps me serious.

"It goes without saying that I'm offering a service, but this isn't all about sex. It is my job to make sure that you enjoy our time together. I aim to be your interesting companion, someone you can enjoy dinner with, someone you can bring to social events who will reflect well on you but isn't imposing in any way. If you want to engage in anything more adventurous than oral, vaginal or anal sex we will have to talk about it first, but I'm not here to fulfill your most depraved sexual fantasy. You hire me because you want the perfect, uncomplicated woman who you can treat like a lady but who doesn't expect you to remember her mother's birthday. I may be selling my body like any prostitute on the street, but I'm also selling my intellect and personality. If you want me, specifically, you will get me. I'm unique, and that is what you're paying for."

I can tell from the way he's looking at me that he likes my statement, even when the intensity in his gaze turns almost smoldering.

"That also includes kissing me?"

I laugh at the question, and hope the pretense that it doesn't make me want to slap my hand over my face is working.

"As I said, I'm a woman, not a badly conceived fictional character. I'll kiss you almost anywhere you want me to, and even the rest is negotiable."

It's nice to see that he doesn't suddenly turn into a blushing boy at the implication, and is sure enough in his own sexuality not to start stammering reassurances of whatever kind.

"Would it be too forward to ask for a demonstration?"

I laugh softly, shaking my head, but remain where I am.

"Don't you want to ask first exactly how much you will be paying for my services?"

I like the ease with which he shrugs that question off.

"You've seen the house I am living in, I am sure your agency has provided a detailed background check into my financial situation. You know I can afford you, and I'm not interested in haggling over the tip. You name a number and I'll pay it."

"Aren't you afraid I will take advantage of you?"

He muses about that for a moment, but his answer sounds honest. "No."

I name a number, slightly higher than I would normally have asked for, and he reaches into the top drawer of the desk, then hands me in an envelope. I take a moment to count the money, before slipping the envelope into my purse.

"Very well," I concede, then get up, making sure to keep my motions elegant yet with a hint of sexiness. "I guess that concludes our preliminary talk?"

He simply nods. Letting my fingers trail over the smooth wood of his desk I walk around it until I'm standing next to his chair. Before I can do more he comes to his feet, then takes my hand and leads me over to a group of leather chairs set around a low table. Letting his fingers slip from around mine he folds himself into one of them, looking up at me.

"Do you want me to take off my dress?"

Another nod is my only answer, and all I really need. I take a step back so I can move more easily and reach around to my neck. Then I slide the zipper down as far as I can, finishing from the back so I can slide the dress down my body. I leave it pooled on the spotlessly clean floor. After disrobing I give him ample time to study my body, now clad only in my underwear and stockings.

"Come here," he beckons me closer, and I step up to him, coming to a halt between his casually spread knees. He rakes his gaze up and down my body appreciatively, before he settles on my face again.

"I want to see you naked. But you can leave the stockings and heels on."

Offering him a small smile I reach behind my back again and open the clasp of my bra, then slide the straps off my arms and let it fall to the floor. He eyes my bare breasts appreciatively, so I reach up and cup them, briefly meshing them together with a wink. I know a couple of girls who've gotten boob jobs, but I've never been tempted to be one of them after my first couple of clients. My breasts might be on the smaller side of the scale, but they fit my physique, and there's enough there to fill out most dresses comfortably.

Letting go of my tits again I slide both my hands down my body, ever so slightly sucking in my stomach so that my breasts look more pronounced, and into my panties. A little tugging and they join my other clothes on the floor.

Keeping my smile confident – I have nothing to hide and I'm proud of my body - I raise my left leg and put my foot onto the broad armrest of the chair, making sure that the heel of my shoe stays clear off the leather and doesn't scratch it. He takes his time admiring me, then extends one hand to idly stroke along my inner thigh until he almost brushes against my pussy, but not quite.

"I'm surprised you're not completely bare," he remarks, referring to the well trimmed strip of pubic hair ending just above my labia.

"You want a woman, not a girl, right?" I offer, smirking down at him briefly. He chuckles and withdraws his hand, leaving it mirroring the other on the armrest.

"I only want a woman."

Because he doesn't make a move to touch me further I put my foot down onto the floor again, then crawl onto his lap until I'm straddling him, my stocking clad knees next to his hip while I run a single finger down his chest to his lower abdomen.

"Do you still want a kiss? On your lips, or also somewhere else?"

He doesn't move even when my finger reaches his crotch, and I can feel his excitement obvious through the fabric of his pants. His eyes have been following the path of my finger but now look back up to my face, that sexy smile still on his lips.

"Tempting, but I like a kiss after the first date, not before."

I'm curious as to what exactly my finger has brushed against before, but his attitude is refreshing.

"Do you want me to get dressed again now?"

"I don't think I want that quite yet," he replies, running a hand up my side. "Why don't you show me how you like to be touched? I want to watch you make yourself come right here in front of me on the table."

"Now we're talking," I whisper, then extricate myself from him. He leans forward slightly as I sit down at the end of the indicated table, keeping my legs spread while my eyes never stray him his. Hooking the finger I've run down his chest before into my mouth I briefly suck on it, then trail it down to my breast, circling my nipple slowly while I lean back until I'm spread across the table top, slightly propped up on the elbow of my other arm.

Sure that I have his full attention now I look away from his face to my breast, watching the motion of my fingers as I first tease my nipple a bit, then grab my boob and massage it while I let a small moan escape me. A brief look up to him shows me that he's fixated on my fingers now, and also follows their trail when I skim them down to my sex.

Hitching one leg up, both for easier access and to give him a better view of what I'm doing, I run the fore and middle finger of my hand up and down my labia a few times before I let them slip in between, moaning again when I reach my clit. Shifting so that I'm lying flat on my back now I use my freed hand to continue to tease and rub my nipple while my fingers circle my clit, then add a slight roll of my hips to the mix. He definitely likes what he sees but doesn't move to step in, so I rotate my hand a little to slide my two fingers into my pussy, using my thumb now to work my clit.

I have one rule, mostly to myself – I don't fake. I love sex, or else I wouldn't do my job. When a client wants me to come for him, I do. I've never been in a situation where that has been a problem, and I very rarely have to tune up my natural reaction. There are two kinds of clients anyway – those who don't give a fuck about my own needs, so they don't care whether I orgasm or not; and the others who feel good about making me feel good, too, and they are usually insistent enough to make it happen, or not shy about asking me to point them in the right direction or help. Either way, I like to think they all appreciate my honest reaction – and my newest client is obviously no exception to that.

I take my time, drawing my enjoyment out so he gets the visual stimulation he is looking for, but I love the way he's watching me. Many guys get off on watching girls masturbate, usually while doing the same but he seems content with just observing, which is fine with me. When I eventually come I don't cry our or scream, just sigh a little louder and let myself fall into the sensation.

When I look back up at him his smile has gotten darker, full of anticipation, but instead of hurling himself on me to fuck me right there he remains where he is. I push myself up into a sitting position again, still not trying to cover myself because I'm more than comfortable with being exposed for him.

"Satisfied?"

He gets my hint, his smile become wry for a moment, but still inclines his head.

"Very. And now you can get dressed."

He gets up and offers me a hand to draw me to my feet, then leaves me to pick up my clothes and slide back into him while he disappears into an adjacent bathroom. I half expect him to be gone for a while, taking care of the without a doubt uncomfortable boner in his pants, but he's back just when I'm done pulling my dress on. He gallantly zips me back up, then rolls the arms of his shirt down and buttons the cuffs, slinging his suit jacket over one arm, and offering me the other.

"May I take you to dinner, Bella?"

"Please do," I smile, sliding my hand over his arm and letting him lead me out of the room.

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd love to know what you think!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks everyone for embracing this story with so much enthusiasm!**

**A huge thank you goes to my new beta, Cullen Confection, and some ass slaps to L and C for continuing to be awesome!**

**Because writing this fic goes so well, I'm switching updates to Tue & Fri! Enjoy!**

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><p>Edward leads me down two sets of stairs to the carport of the house. James the butler is nowhere to be seen, apparently his job is done after insulting me.<p>

As the lights come on in the cavernous room below, chrome and leather are present everywhere. I've never been good with identifying cars, but the sleek, dark red Maserati Cabrio he leads me to fits him perfectly, down to the way the headlights seem to be frozen in a slightly devious smile. He holds the door for me before he gets in himself, and off we go, the massive doors of the garage closing seemingly all by themselves behind us.

He's a good and fast driver, not too aggressive, which is a nice change from what I'm used to from men who drive similar cars. To them, their cars are toys, prized possessions to underline their status and show off their greatness – a little like I am. I don't mind the analogy, on the contrary. Often watching a man handle his car can be a good hint at how he's going to handle me, and I'm not opposed to be handled with confidence and made to purr while being on a wild ride. There's a lot of understated confidence and power in the way he weaves in and out of traffic, I like that.

Dealing with men and their cars is always tricky. I always pay attention that I don't spill anything on the upholstery, and unless specifically requested to, make sure I don't scratch the paintjob of the hood with my heels. Men pay me for my discretion and a good time, they normally don't want lasting mementos. Being too concerned about their toy getting sullied in any way is petty, and pettiness is not a quality that will make me want to turn a client into a regular. The worst that has ever happened to me was the guy who had me sit on a towel, 'just to make sure.'

"Do you want to tell me more about your car?" I ask when we stop at a red light, maybe five minutes into the drive.

He partly turns his head so he can look at me and the road ahead both, a wry smile turning one side of his mouth upwards.

"You like cars? Most women complain about me playing way too much with my toys."

I like his honesty, both in what he says, and what he doesn't.

"I like to listen to you talk about something you like, how is that?"

He inclines his head, still grinning, then lets the car shoot forward the moment the green light comes on. I love the way the acceleration presses me into the crème colored leather seats, the same as listening to his smooth voice rattle off the specifics of the car. He seems amused when I ask about a few details, but is of course happy to elaborate, and before we know it, we have reached our destination.

The restaurant he has chosen fits him – there's an understated elegance to everything, the décor is impeccable, the service personnel well trained, the wine rich and the food excellent. Following up on the manners he has shown so far, he asks for my choice of food before he chooses the wine, and we toast to a wonderful evening once it arrives.

We are having a good time, and conversation is flowing easily without me having to put any effort at all into it. At first, we talk about every day topics – politics, history, art – and while I know he's trying to get a feel for how I will do if he ever chooses to take me to a banquet or similar, the mood is relaxed and nice. When dessert arrives, he changes over to more personal topics.

"Does your family know about what you do?"

I shake my head, chuckling wryly before I take another sip of wine.

"They would disown me, or something like that. As much as I love my work, I don't want them to know. They think I'm working as a personal assistant for some eccentric elderly woman."

"And they believe that?"

"Why should they doubt it?" I answer his question with one in return. "I'm not weaving a web of lies, I just give them a good reason for why I can afford the clothes I wear and the house I'm living in, and why I don't work usual business hours. I could never have stayed in college because they didn't have the money to support me, and the alternative was working a temp office job for twice the amount of time and a lot less pay."

"So you became an escort for economic reasons?"

There's no one even remotely in ear shot of us, so I feel like I can be completely honest with what I say, without having to censor my sentences.

"I became a whore because I like to fuck, it's as simple as that. The job pays well and I'm lucky to have a lot of flexibility about my schedules and assignments. It wasn't always this way and like with any other job, my boss can be a pain in the ass just as my clients can be jerks. No one coerced me into it nor forces me to stay, and I don't really want another job. I'm happy with what I do and where I am in life."

My bluntness clearly amuses him, but in a good way.

"Do you already know what you will be doing once you decide you don't want to be a whore anymore?"

It's the first time that I've heard him use any sort of expletive or derogatory term, and it definitely makes me hot. He's also obviously humoring me by picking it up now, something I like, too.

"Not really, although I do keep savings from all of my assignments. I'm good with people, I'm sure there are plenty of jobs out there where I can put my confidence to good use. Maybe coaching or something like that, there're always people who need someone to lead them in the right direction."

"Have you ever considered freelancing? You must lose a substantial part of your income to the agency."

I consider that for a while, but shake my head in the end.

"Not really. My agent gets a cut of 30 percent, which is average. For that, she screens and selects the clients for me, does a background check on them. She knows at all times who I'm with and checks in with me when the need arises, security is a vital thing in my line of work after all. I would have to hire a private investigator for most of that myself who I couldn't trust as I can her, and it's simply less of a hassle for me. If I need to make more money, I take on more clients, or some with wishes that bring more money, it's as simple as that. Plus, as much as that's possible I consider her my friend, that helps keep the connection alive and me at her heel."

Again my words bring a wry grin to his face, and he's not shy to keep digging deeper into my life. I really don't mind, after all I'm not revealing any incriminating information, and it would be strange for me to shut up after claiming I'm proud of selling the entire person as I am, body and mind, in the first place.

"Do you often reject clients?"

"No. Like all the girls, I have a set list of preferences of what I like doing, and what I'm willing to do. Unless she's really desperate and doesn't have anyone else she can trust, my agent wouldn't ask me to take on a client who doesn't fit my preferences. Sometimes I'm happy to make compromises, but it depends on what they are asking for."

I expect him to ask for either my preferences or my limits next, but he switches to the next topic, almost making me feel like he's trying to protect my privacy.

"Do you ever feel strange about being accessory to cheating? You must know how many of your clients are married and don't tell their wives about visiting you."

His question makes me wonder if he's really that naïve, but I don't think that he expects me to answer with 'yes.'

"I've never lost a night's sleep over it."

"So it doesn't bother you at all? No unease an angry wife could chase you down one day?"

His assumption makes me laugh.

"I don't think that ever happens outside of romance novels and bad made for TV movies. But, to answer your question, no, it doesn't bother me. In a way, I even think I'm doing those cheated on wives a favor. Going to see a prostitute every other week is a lot better than bending your secretary over the copy machine Tuesday nights when your wife is having her book club and won't notice you coming home late. There is no emotional attachment between me and my clients, even when they become regulars. They just come to me to have a good time, and once we're done, that's it."

"Just a service like any other?" he ventures a guess, his tone slightly teasing.

"Why did you contact an escort agency?" I ask in turn. "Quite frankly, you call an expert mechanic to take care of your car, why not go see an expert in sex to have your sexual needs fulfilled?"

"You keep telling me it's not all just about sex," he interjects. I like that he tries to turn my own arguments around on me, and I'm definitely up for that game.

"Not all, but you wouldn't pay me to put on a nice dress and enjoy dinner with you if sex wasn't involved. The difference is you also want the sophisticated conversation and the knowledge that there's more to the woman you're going to fuck than a nice pair of tits and a great ass. A lot of my clients are regulars because they want me, specifically, not just any other girl the agency could offer them. They like to tell me about their day, bitch about their wives and bosses and get a sympathetic pat on the back, knowing it will never have any consequences that they opened up. They enjoy that they can ask me to do things their wives would be scandalized about, or maybe the fact that they're soliciting someone for sex is their fetish. In the end, it all boils down to well executed, non-judgmental sex offered with the bonus of pleasant company. If they'd just want the sex alone they could just go see any hooker working the streets."

I'm not sure if he's buying my arguments, and his next remark makes me wonder if I've been too defensive.

"You really don't like common prostitutes, right?"

"They are the competition, of course I don't like them," I reply airily, then offer him a slight smile. "And I will freely admit that my ego forces me to point out that there's a huge difference between what they offer, and what I do."

"Without a doubt," he concedes, but leaves it at that, clearly satisfied that he has gotten somewhat of a rise out of me.

I can't let that go just like that.

"We've spent hours talking up until now, and we're obviously having a good time and enjoy each other's company. If you wanted to, you could tell me your deepest secrets, and you could be sure I wouldn't rat you out, and very likely act in a non-judgmental way, as they don't personally concern me. In a way, you get interesting conversation, food for thought and a therapy session all in one pretty package with the sex."

His wry grin only widens.

"There's no need for you to pitch your offer to me anymore, I'm already sold."

It's a nice touch that he doesn't stress that he has paid already, too, and I make myself relax again.

"I just like to be taken seriously, that's all. Basic human nature, wouldn't you say?"

"We all need that. The same as we sometimes need to feel important and special. You should add that to your list of things you provide."

"So true."

Silence falls for a while, the first time since we've gotten out of the car, but it's not awkward.

"I've spent so much time talking about myself now, is there something you would like to tell me about yourself?" I finally continue our conversation.

"You're an interesting woman, I like getting to know you better."

I smile at the compliment, but don't let him sidetrack me.

"No offense, but powerful men usually like talking about themselves and their achievements."

"And?"

"And nothing."

My lack of a proper reply makes him think, until he shrugs noncommittally.

"I think what fascinates me about listening to you is that you sound so honest and unassuming. I can't remember a single conversation I've had in years where someone just answered my questions and didn't try to make themselves look better, or hold back details they don't want known. I can imagine that there are things, personal things, that you wouldn't want to tell me, and I wouldn't ask, but you're refreshingly brutal in your answers. I'm not sure if I would even want to be that way, even with you."

"You could give it a try, see how it goes?"

My suggestion is rewarded with another of those smirks of his that I'm coming to look forward to seeing again.

"Maybe another time."

"What else do you want to talk about then?"

The way the quality of his gaze changes is answer enough, but his words still make me tingle with anticipation.

"I don't want to talk anymore."

While the waiter has been wonderfully absent from our table while we have been talking, he is there in an instant when Edward flags him down to settle the bill. Five minutes later, we're in the car, and in no time we're back at his mansion. We don't really talk on the way over, but I don't mind, and neither does he.

Some clients lose all pretense of manners the moment it comes to sex, but he's still relaxed and at his best behavior when he helps me out of the car and leads me to the stairs, barely touching the small of my back as he guides me towards the master bedroom.

It's a grand room, set to fit the rest of the mansion, with more dark wood but here the color theme is different, blue and white are dominating, down to the cobalt blue sheets and white pillow cases and duvet covers.

He leaves me to explore the room on my own while he leaves his jacket carelessly thrown over the back of a chair, before sauntering over to the bed. I wait for a hint from him what he would like to do but he just sits down at the foot of the bed, then kicks off his shoes while he looks at me.

Putting my purse next to the chair his jacket ended up on, I walk over to him, still in my heels, then stop with my knees brushing against his. He's looking up at me, his hands warm around my legs where he's touching my thighs, but it's not an overtly sexual touch.

"What do you have in mind now?"

He shrugs, looking almost neutral, undecided, but definitely horny.

"Do you want to conquer me?" I suggest. "Or be conquered? Fast and passionate, or slow and tender? Do you want to make love, or fuck me? Do you want to be fucked?"

His slight smile grows wider with every time that I stress the 'k' in 'fuck' but he takes his time answering.

"I want to touch you. Explore your body with my hands while you ride me. So I guess I want to be fucked."

Letting my own smile grow more seductive, I run my hands over his shoulders, then push on them until he leans back, but he stops me when I try to straddle him.

"Not like this. Not with the lights on full. You have a great body that I've had the opportunity to see already, but now I don't want the visuals to change my perception."

The request is somewhat strange but well within the limits that I'm used to.

"How about we dim the lights? Or do you have candles somewhere?"

We try with just the bedside lights on, but I can see from the frown on his face that it's still not exactly what he has imagined. While looking around I notice the balcony door, leading outside onto a large sun deck. The nights are still cool but there are no clouds in the sky, and the almost full moon is casting everything into a soft, silvery blue light.

Taking Edward's hand I insistently tug on it until he moves off the bed, then follows me slowly as I pull him towards the door.

"Isn't it a little cold for that?" He hedges as we step onto the deck, my heels clicking softly on the teak floor.

"We can bring some blankets if you want?" I offer, making him grin for a moment.

"Not for me, but for you."

"I don't mind," I shrug his comfort off, drawing him closer towards the lounge chair in the back. "And I'm sure we'll find a way to heat things up, don't you think?"

This time he doesn't protest when I push him onto his back and climb onto him, bringing our bodies closer together. I love the expectant look in his eyes, that energy that seems to build between us. Having sex with anyone for the first time is always special, you never know what will happen; it's still a mystery despite how often I've done it before.

Leaning further into him, I place one of my hands on the lounge chair next to his head, and use the other to stroke up his arm while I brush my lips over his slowly. I feel them open for me, eager for more despite his obvious will to let me be the driving force of this encounter, at least for now. I tease him a bit by placing a few almost chaste kisses onto his chin and beside his mouth before I press my lips against his again, but just for a moment. I can feel him tense underneath me, his patience wearing thin, and get rewarded with a small sound coming from low within his chest when my next move is a quick lick over his lips.

The need to go on is growing stronger so I take the next step, deepening the kiss into a real one, flicking my tongue into his mouth and against his a few times until he reciprocates. Kissing is an art, and like I think he likes to excel at everything he does, this is no exception. I lose myself in the soft caresses and languid motions until I feel my entire body yearn for more, knowing it has to be worse for him already.

He doesn't protest when I let my aim stray, kiss, and lick my way down his throat, using my fingers to quickly unbutton his shirt to clear the way for where I want to go. His skin is deliciously warm under my hands when I push the fabric to the side, revealing his well toned chest, lightly sprinkled with hair. Kissing my way further down to his abdomen, I reach for his belt, and after undoing it work my way inside his pants.

From having been perched atop him for a while now, I've already gotten a good guess of how well he's endowed, but I still smile up at him for a second as I wrap my fingers around his cock and pull it out of his boxers. I would have smiled just the same if he'd had the smallest dick in the world – after all, it's my job to make him feel good about all this, and appreciating what he has to offer is an integral part of it – but it's nice not to have to lie about my enthusiasm.

With his cock already in my hand, my next step is obvious, but before I can do more than lean in and flick my tongue teasingly over his head, a hand on my shoulder keeps me from doing more. My surprise must be showing plainly on my face because he chuckles, but shakes his head.

"Later, gladly. But I want to touch you know, feel your skin under my hands."

I'm not heartbroken about switching my plans around, plus what he wants is what he gets, so I quit teasing him and instead divest him of his pants and socks quickly. At a nod from him, I slip my heels off while still standing, then unzip my dress and let it glide to the floor. I pull the pin holding my hair up out, shaking my tresses free so that they cascade down my back and frame my boobs nicely. His eyes keep roaming over my body as I take off my bra and step out of my panties, then at last, roll down my stockings so that I'm completely naked when I join him on the chair again.

The night air might be cool, but its soft caress only has me yearning for more when I settle on his thighs again, his semi erect cock still lying against his lower stomach. Smiling down at him sensually, I take his hands and bring them up to my waist, pressing them against my body until I feel him tightening his fingers ever so slightly. Once I bring my hands down onto my stomach, his start to explore my body.

I have the good fortune of a good genetic makeup that makes my face pleasant to look at and keeping my weight a matter of slight exercise and a healthy diet, but my body isn't one many women might expect from an escort. While my breasts are not large, they are by far not the only curves present, and there's more softness to me than athletic build. Men like to have something to sink their fingers into when they grab my ass, and they rarely complement women on their wonderfully pronounced hip-bones.

He seems to like what his hands stroke over a lot, and once they have moved from my waist up over my ribcage towards my breasts I lean back, keeping my hands out of the way by pushing them into the cover of the chaise between his knees. His touch is getting surer as he covers more ground, only briefly lingering at my boobs before he moves up to my shoulders, then down my arms until he switches to my thighs, and up again to my hips. The warmth of his hands is a nice contrast to the goosebumps that cover the rest of me, but I don't do more than move into his touch a little when he lingers for a while.

I get the feeling that just like me kissing him earlier, he's now teasing me with his slow caresses. Letting my eyes drift closed I push my hips forward until I can feel his cock pressing against my pussy, then swivel them in turn with his strokes all over my body, soon feeling him grow hard.

I'm wet enough that I don't need any artificial lubrication right now, but once I feel him ready for more, I reach down to where my clothes lie and retrieve the condom from where I ditched it earlier. Unlike some first time clients who without doubt have read the fine print but think it's been a joke or something he doesn't even tense up when he sees me rip the foil and get out the rubber, before rolling it down his cock with sure motions.

His hands wander back to grab my ass when I raise my hips, supporting me just as much as groping me, and I hold his gaze while I line up his cock with my pussy and ease myself onto him. I really don't have to fake the moan that leaves my lips, and while the sensation of being filled is curing one itch, it fans on another, entirely different one.

I start to move on him slowly, first just rolling my hips back and forth, before I raise myself off him a little more each time. His hands stick to my lower body, kneading my thighs and ass, and grabbing my hips to urge me on more. I comply, shifting my weight so that now I'm holding myself perched over him with my hands on his chest, conveniently pushing my boobs together right in front of his face. He takes the bait and reaches for them, his fingers no longer stroking my skin but massaging my boobs now.

While until then he has been happy to stay more or less passive except for touching me, eventually he reaches the point where letting me lead doesn't satisfy him anymore. I utter a little yelp when he suddenly rears up, his arms coming around my shoulders, and rearranges himself a little so that he's sitting up now, our faces almost level. Grabbing his cock, I slide him back into me, just as his hand moves to twine his fingers through my hair so that I can't escape him when his mouth captures mine again. It's a needy, frantic kiss now, asking for more, neither of us wanting to hold back any longer.

I quickly match my motions to his when he starts to thrust up into me, the more intense friction created pulling more moans from me and his mouth can only stifle so much. His free hand drops to my ass now, pushing me further into him, and I try to grind myself against him as much as possible while my fingers dig into his back and shoulder.

Tension is rapidly building inside of me, and when I finally reach my orgasm, I just let go. I have a few clients who always need to come first, but he strikes me more as the kind of guy who enjoys the accomplishment of satisfying his partner along with everything else. True enough he pulls his head back from me, his eyes watching my face intently as I climax, so I let him see just how good he is making me feel. His thrusts turn a little more erratic then and he grabs my hips, and after a couple deep ones, he comes himself, holding me in place until his body goes slack and he sags back down into the chaise.

Panting heavily myself, I look down on him for a moment, the relaxed smile on his face a different kind of reward for me.

He's growing soft quickly now and I use the motion of sliding off his lap and stretching out alongside him so I can snuggle up to his warm body, to pull off the condom, nimbly tying a knot with it so I can discreetly dispose of it next to the chaise without making a mess of it.

His arms enfold me once I lie down half on, half beside him, and we kiss long and slow while our bodies come down from our mutual high. My guess has been right, the smug look on his face tells me that he's proud of himself for having made me come, and with luck he has been able to feel me climax so he knows that my claim that I really don't fake is true. Either way, he looks satisfied, and right now that is the only thing I care about.

Some guys feel the need to start talking after sex, but he's thankfully not one of them; he seems content enough with holding me pressed against him while his fingers stroke my back and play with my hair. Eventually, I feel him start to shiver so I turn my head and look at him, asking him if he minds if we go inside again.

He's happy to oblige, but instead of letting me walk, he sweeps me up in his arms and carries me inside, my laughing protest all but ignored. His intent becomes more obvious when he almost throws me onto the bed and comes after me, all hot kisses and insistent touches.

When we finally fall asleep, I'm exhausted, but in the best of ways, contently curled up on my left side, with him spooning me, one arm thrown over my middle. Conversations over dinner might have been interesting, and sex was without a doubt great, but it's the underlying sense of familiarity already establishing itself between us that leaves me with the sure feeling of having ensnared me another regular client with him.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all so much for the stunning amount of love the story is receiving!**

**A huge thank you goes to my beta, Cullen Confection, and boob gropes to L and C for continuing to be awesome!**

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><p>I'm not used to sleeping in, and even less so in a bed that isn't my own, but by the time my eyes flutter open, my cheek pressed into an unfamiliar crème colored pillow, sun is streaming in through the windows.<p>

A look over my shoulder confirms my first impression, I'm alone in Edward's bedroom. There's no alarm clock on the night stand, and with no other means of telling the time from where I am I have to take a guess – something I've never been good at. The house around me is completely silent, but that doesn't really surprise me, considering yesterday, it doesn't seem like he's keeping a lot of staff around.

I don't have any appointments today except for meeting Rose at 2 P.M., so I take my time exploring the bedroom and the adjacent bathroom. The warm water from the luxurious shower feels heavenly on my skin, and after drying off, I pad out of the bathroom again to hunt down my dress.

Only, I come face to face with James the butler, and his scowl, if possible, is even more pronounced than the day before. With only my towel slung around my body I feel terribly underdressed, but try to make the best of it as he keeps scrutinizing me.

"Will you be needing anything, Miss Swan? Mr. Cullen instructed me specifically to see that your needs are met."

I can't for the life of me fathom where he gets those stunted sentences from, except maybe Alfred Hitchcock movies, but the fact that Edward's manners seem to extend into today is a pleasant fact.

"Coffee, please. Black, no sugar, no cream."

The butler's disdain of me abusing his forced hospitality makes it easy for me to keep on smiling pleasantly.

"Anything else?"

I look around, but while the door to the sun deck is open, I can't see my clothes outside anymore where I left them.

"Do you happen to know where my dress is?"

His answering smile is sardonic, and he seems to be fighting with finding the right answer for a few seconds.

"In the garment bag at the back of the door, I had it cleaned at Mr. Cullen's wish. You will find your other necessities in the smaller bag enclosed with it."

It wouldn't have surprised me if he had referred to my underwear as unmentionables, but as it is more fun to be civil with him than not, I keep smiling and thank him for his thoughtfulness.

"Will that be all?"

At my nod he leaves the room with haste, and I follow him to retrieve my clothes. Everything is immaculately folded, and I dress while I wait for James to return with the coffee. He doesn't come back, so I eventually retrieve my purse and slip on my heels, then venture outside and try to find my way to the front door.

I'm just stepping down the last of the stairs to the ground floor when James appears almost out of thin air, next to the front door, carrying a surprisingly normal looking, steaming cup, and a manila folder on a tray. I take the folder first, pulling the expected nondisclosure agreement papers out of it, but there's also a letter enclosed. Ignoring James, I tear it open, very un-lady-like. There's a single sheet of paper inside, nothing fancy, covered in a few lines of handwriting that are nearly indecipherable. The meaning is easier to catch than the words themselves – Edward is thanking me for a wonderful evening spent together, and would love to meet me again some time. Smiling, I fold the contract papers, and together with the letter, slip them into my purse.

The whole time the butler has been staring at me, his face unmoving, yet frozen in a look of contempt and disdain. Still, whatever he might think of me personally, the coffee is heavenly, and I take my time enjoying it sip by sip. My inherent pettiness nearly drives me to drawing the moment out but I make myself finish fast, promising myself that next time I come over, I will somehow get my hands on another cup of this delicacy.

Handing the cup back I turn to get the door, but James is too fast, having it open for me before I can reach the handle.

"The cab is waiting for you. The driver is already paid and will take you wherever you wish to go."

That's a first, but I accept it without a comment. Wishing James a good day, I walk down the path towards the main gate, not surprised to hear the door slam before my foot has left the bottom of the three steps present.

I almost miss Edward's manners when I have to get the door of the cab myself, then laugh softly at my own hilarious thoughts. The cab driver eyes me with that knowing look too many of them have nowadays but I ignore him, telling him to drop me off at a shop a good distance from my house.

I'm not a very paranoid person, but I don't want anything leading back to me, and with a pre-paid cab driver you never know what exactly he has been paid for.

After buying a couple new sets of lingerie – I can't very well show up in the same bra and panties twice with the same client, even if he wouldn't notice, and I'm sure most of them already see too many washed-out, worn bras at home – I make my way home. I would love to slip into more comfortable clothes, but next to Rose I often feel like the shabby, mousy friend already, so I take care to dress up even for what would be a casual meeting. At least I can forgo the heels, and wear some underwear I wouldn't want any of my clients to ever see.

This time I'm fifteen minutes early, but Rose is nevertheless already waiting for me. I don't know why I still play this game anymore, seeing as I never seem to be able to win.

"You are late."

"And you are a bitch about it."

She grins without looking up from her ever present BlackBerry. I sit down across from her and push the envelope with her cut of my earnings across the table, as always amused with how it disappears out of sight. I normally don't hand over cash very often but make deposits to her bank account, but as I'm meeting with her today, this is easier.

When the waiter drops by I order a sandwich and diet coke, then wait patiently for Rose to grace me with her attention. She must be in a good mood as that happens before my food arrives.

"Not that I mind, but what has you in such exceptional good spirits?"

"You, of course."

"Now that's strange, I thought you were immune to my charms?"

She pointedly looks from my face to my chest, and back up again.

"I wouldn't touch anyone wearing a ten bucks H&M cotton bra with a ten foot pole, you should know that." As always, the fact that she seems to have X-ray vision when it comes to any clothing faux-pas leaves me astonished, but when she goes on, the mystery of her good mood is quickly revealed. "Your Mr. C called earlier today. You must have pulled off quite the stunt, he wanted to book you for a four day assignment."

"So, he's _my_ Mr. C already?" I ask, feeling a flutter low in my stomach that has a lot to do with real anticipation, and less with the money changing hands that is always involved in such a matter.

Rose raises one expertly formed eyebrow.

"He asked specifically for you, and made it clear that he doesn't want any other girl. I told him that is of course part of the service, and that I will ask you if your schedule is clear for the required days."

"And?"

"And what?" My question seems to genuinely surprise her.

"And are you going to ask me if I'm free?"

Her laughter is loud enough to turn a few heads, but she doesn't seem to notice, or more likely doesn't care.

"You silly goose, of course I won't ask. You can't refuse an offer like this."

"Of course I can, I'm not some kind of greedy gold digger who's out to make a good catch here."

Rose's smile doesn't lose any of its strength, but somehow turns almost lethal.

"You misunderstood me, honey. If you ever want to work as a working girl in this town again, you don't refuse. I hope we're clear on that?"

Instead of taking her seriously – which I do, but I don't show it – I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes slightly.

"Does that line still work on anyone? Because it doesn't exactly scare me."

"It works well enough on the new ones. And, oh, wait, I forgot, you'd never leave me or go behind my back out of the goodness of your heart!"

Sometimes I don't know if she would really follow up on any of her threats, but Rose isn't the kind of woman you cross just to test whether she's as tough a bitch as she likes to pretend. I know that she's been a whore herself, and after retiring built her own agency that quickly outgrew that of her former madam within a single year. Rumor has it that she is still seeing a handful of her former clients, just for the kick of it, but I've never asked her about it myself. Rumor also has it that she single-handedly castrated a guy who tried to rape one of her girls; of course that has always impressed me, and while her behavior can be off-putting at times, it's also reassuring. Just as I know that she'd chew me out if I ever tried to go behind her back, I also know that she'd hurt people who don't treat me right. I also don't need to like her to work well with her, although on some level I really do. Just not all the time.

Rose is also one of the most honest people I know. I still remember the pep talk she gave me before I had sex with my first client – and even more memorable, the one after. How just because I'm a whore, I don't need to feel dirty, I don't need to feel degraded or debased, but should never lose perspective. It's a job like any other, only we cannot allow ourselves to confuse passion with feelings. No client ever falls in love with a prostitute, but if we do it right, they respect us for who we are and value us for what we do. So far keeping that in mind has always served me well.

This is why I ignore her jibes now, and instead of answering her I bite into my sandwich, chewing noisily enough to let that be my reply. She rolls her eyes and goes back to typing on her phone, but eventually returns to the part of our conversation that has held some actual information.

"He wants you to come over on Friday afternoon, and you'll likely be back late Sunday night or early Monday morning. Dress for all occasions, but bring a swim suit and some 'chic casual' clothes, next to evening attire."

I nod, wondering what to make of those instructions. It would be nice to know what will be happening so I can dress accordingly, but Edward doesn't strike me as a guy who would leave some information as vital as this unmentioned unless it's deliberate.

"I hope he doesn't expect me to just bring one bag?"

"He didn't mention baggage limitations, but even if you should go somewhere by plane, he does strike me as the type who owns his own jet, whether for private or business related trips. He didn't mention a passport so you won't have to bother updating your shots."

I'm partly tempted to ask whether she means my rabies shots or something else, but she remains serious, all business, so I refrain from it.

"I already told him to pay up front, directly to the agency, you'll have your money ready in your account by the time you're back." The look she gives me then is almost shrewd. "I hope you don't mind that unlike you, I don't overcharge."

She must have asked him – covertly, of course – how much money I asked for yesterday, as there is no way that she has had the chance to check how much the envelope I gave her contains, and I force myself not to fidget in the slightest when I reply.

"Of course not. And I'm almost certain he'd think I was worth what I told him to pay even though it's slightly above my usual rate. Your cut isn't, if you were wondering."

Rose lets her predatory smile be her answer, and gets back to business.

"I rescheduled your Friday afternoon appointment to Thursday so make sure you're up to the challenge of pulling a three-nighter. I also took the liberty to give your Monday morning to Grace, just to be sure. If your newest client keeps engaging you for longer stretches of time, it would be great if you could find that out ahead so I don't have to micro-manage your every waking hour. But I'm not letting him have you for more than three weekends a month, or more than a week at a time with several days in between until the next appointment. Getting too fixated on a single client has never done anyone any favors."

"Speaking from experience?"

She huffs but doesn't deny my jab.

"I know that you've been cutting back your hours over the last year, and it's been a good economic move because you're good enough that you can easily charge them more, even your long term regulars. Nevertheless, it's important that you retain a steady client base even if you like playing with your new, shiny toy best. He needs to know that while he can ask for just you, you are not his possession, and he doesn't have any claim on you. If you never give him the sense that he has, that won't ever become a problem, and you can enjoy each other's company for years. None of us get younger, and eventually your tits sag and your ass gets huge, but if you're good enough they'll still pay you ten times as much as a girl half your age. Trust me, I know."

For a while her speech has me concerned, but eventually she always shows her true colors. It's one of the reasons why we get along so well.

"Why, are you telling me you make more in one hour than I make in a weekend, or have you been lying to me all those years while we kept celebrating your thirty-fifth birthday?"

"Oh, shut up, whore!"

I leave it at a smile, then finish my coke, put down some cash to settle my check and leave her to her BlackBerry obsession. After all, I have some swim suit shopping to do.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think! See you on Friday for Chapter 5!<strong>

**You can also find me on facebook (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm so happy about all the love the story is receiving, thank you all so much! I'm sorry I fell behind on replying to reviews (and the fact that the reply system is broken and I can only do it via PM doesn't help), but I will do my best to answer all questions and get back to you as soon as possible!**

**A huge thank you goes to my beta, Cullen Confection, and ****to my merry band of mischievous pre-readers, L, C, and Ivygirl702!**

**For all the slash lovers out there, I have a new multi-chapter fic to recommend - "Roads" by prassacut. It's brilliant, funny, and ****needs more love! L, you really did a phenomenal job with it!**

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><p>Not knowing exactly where we will be going makes packing for my weekend with Edward harder than I like it to be, but in the end, I'll only have a duffel bag to sling over my shoulder and a medium sized suitcase to pull behind me, when I exit the taxi at the mansion. I've opted for a somewhat more casual attire for coming over, a light knit long-sleeve dress, reaching to mid thigh, with over the knee suede boots, complete with huge sunglasses and a hair-band to keep my straightened tresses from plastering themselves to my face.<p>

I haven't yet reached the gate as it opens already, and halfway down the path towards the front door I see James stepping out, dressed exactly the same as the last time I saw him, including the sour look on his face. He doesn't make a move to come help me with my luggage, so I don't embarrass myself with waiting for him to do so, but instead make my way over to him.

"Miss Swan, what a pleasant surprise," he eventually greets me when I've almost reached him.

"I'm sure my visit here is neither one," I reply haughtily, but he doesn't react to my jibe. Instead, he takes my duffel and the trolley, and disappears with both down the path again I've just navigated, then turns toward the car port existing on the other side of the lawn. I follow his progress for a few seconds, then turn back to the door when I hear someone else approaching from inside.

In broad daylight, Edward looks as dashing as ever, the khakis and dark blue polo shirt suiting him. He's smiling already as he quickly descends the few steps still separating us, then sweeps me up in an embrace and slightly deeper than modest kiss when I step up to him without hesitating. There's nothing more awkward than a whore playing coy the second time she meets a client, and I'm glad that he takes to a more intimate yet casual greeting than, say, a nod or friendly hug.

"It's nice to see you again," I smile as he lets go of me and steps away, but stays within touching distance.

"The feeling is mutual," he assures me, then almost hesitantly reaches out to brush an errant strand of hair off my cheek. I love how the warmth of his touch lingers, and when he makes as if to pull his hand back, I quickly reach up to stop him. His fingers stoke over my skin as I turn my head, and I place a gentle kiss onto his palm before letting go of his hand, ending the whole thing with a coy smile that quickly gains a somewhat dirty undercurrent all on its own.

"Did you miss me?" I ask playfully, getting rewarded by a half lewd, half amused grin from him.

"Of course, I did. How could I not?"

He seems to want to say more but we get interrupted by the sound of a car engine revving behind me. Turning my head, I see James exit the driver's side of the red Maserati, leaving the engine running as he approaches us.

"The car is ready, Sir," he offers redundantly.

"Thank you. That will be all," Edward dismisses him, and with a curt nod to him and a narrow-eyed glance at me, James returns to the front door, closing it behind him. I'm sure Edward notices his butler's behavior but as he doesn't comment on it, neither do I, and I'm happy when he steers me towards the car instead, a sure hand at my lower back guiding me.

"Are you going to tell me where we are going now, or is it bound to remain a secret?"

He chuckles as he holds the door for me, then answers as he slides into the driver's seat.

"Not exactly a secret, you'll see soon enough."

Like the other day, he turns out to be a fast yet smooth driver over longer distances, too, and the car is eating miles fast once we're outside of the city. He doesn't turn on the radio but I don't mind, letting my senses soak up the beautiful landscape and sunshine alike.

"Can I ask you how your week was?" he suddenly breaks the silence, dividing his attention between me and the road just long enough to beam a boyish smile at me.

"You don't strike me as the kind of man who is used to having 'can not' as part of his vocabulary," I shoot back.

As expected that turns his smile into a wide grin, and he briefly inclines his head.

"True, but even when you're a cold hearted bastard you try to appear to have manners sometimes. Let me rephrase my question then, do you mind me asking how your week has been since last we met?"

I like his slightly sarcastic sophisticated speech, yet as he decided to stay vague, so do I.

"Of course not, but I'm afraid my recount will bore you. Contrary to popular belief, an escort's life is not all glamour and excitement all the time."

"No? You break my heart."

"Only on weekends."

He flashes me a quick grin, but as he keeps glancing in my direction whenever traffic will allow it, I start my recount. After all, he asked for it.

"I spent a substantial amount of time hunting for a new lamp for my living room. It's surprisingly hard to find lamps that match the décor, but also give actual light. Then I wasted a whole morning wrestling with my computer, but thankfully my next door neighbor is rather proficient with technology, so he managed to salvage all of my files and even got the entire system running more smoothly. He also left me a still of an exploding whale for a background image, very tasteful, really."

As expected, he guffaws at that.

"So I imagine."

"Bored already?"

"Not by far. Please go on."

I chuckle to myself, then do exactly that.

"Wednesday, I picked up a couple of new books to read. I'm also debating whether I should get the new iPad, but considering I don't even use my phone's capacities, I'm not sure I want to spend money on yet another gadget that I will then doom to systemic atrophy through misuse and neglect."

"New statistics show that most people use their smartphones and tablets mostly for playing games anyway. You'd be in good company."

"I'm also afraid it might turn me into a recurring Farmville addict, and I can't have that," I confess. His smile turns a little wry, and after taking another turn in the road, he looks at me fully.

"Why, does that screw with your work schedule too much?"

"Sadly enough, it does," I reply snidely. "Most clients react weirdly when I tell them to please fuck me from behind for the next five minutes so I can harvest my rice and seed a new batch of cranberries. I guess it would be so much easier if I charged by the hour. Dang, I guess that point goes to the infamous round the corner prostitute."

I love the rich sound of his laughter, even dulled by the wind rushing around the car as it is.

"A less time restricting alternative then, maybe. But I'm sure that with the way your calendar must look and the connected accounting that you must be doing each week, you could justify getting the iPad."

His assumption makes me chuckle.

"I don't keep my appointments and tally on any electronic device."

"No?" He seems genuinely surprised.

"No, I'm old-school black book, in duplicate to make sure. You never know who reads your most valued secrets that you only share with Google and Microsoft."

"I hadn't tagged you as the paranoid, conspiracy theory lover," he admits.

"It's not that, I'm not afraid someone will hack my system and sell the obtained information to a third party. In fact, even if I kept all of my records on my computer, they wouldn't really find much more than a list of names and often repetitive numbers. My browser history is without a doubt much more interesting, if about as conclusive. We're all sitting in a glasshouse of easily obtainable yet utterly useless information. If the IRS or vice wants to have my ass, they can accost me a lot easier than hacking my computer."

My explanation once again amuses him, but I can tell that he's relieved about me not being a real nutjob.

"I guess so, you did mention last time that you consider anal as standard service."

It's not only what he says, but also, how he says it, all wry humor with a hint of a sinister twist to his mouth, that cracks me up.

"Aw, that's so sweet of you to remember! I feel so loved!" I gush. "Now, I just hope I didn't forget to pack the lube! Ah, silly me, I never forget the lube, it's as vital as duct tape!"

"You keep duct tape in your purse?"

"You never know when you'll need it!" I shout, infomercial style, then join in his laughter.

We spend the rest of the drive with similar light conversation, except for the two brief intervals when he has to take a call on his phone. It's close to five when we arrive at our destination, a sprawling seaside resort, easily large enough for a small town to fit into its premises. It reeks of luxury, but it's obviously not the kind of get-away you chose for a romantic – or not so romantic – weekend alone for two.

"Business or leisure?" I ask him when he looks at me expectantly, as he pulls up in front of the reception area.

"A little bit of both, I'm afraid. I hope you don't mind."

"Wouldn't dare to," I reply with a wink, then patiently wait for him to get my door.

It takes less than five minutes to check in, and soon we and our luggage are seen to a wonderful beach side villa, conveniently at the very edge of the row of accommodation buildings. Everything is furnished in a very modern, clean style, leaving the not overtly large house still seem open and breezy. There's one bedroom and no kitchen, but I don't think anyone would come here to cook, as the discreetly placed folder from room service suggests.

Once the bellhop leaves, I walk up to where Edward is now looking out over the patio and at the ocean, the light breeze ruffling his hair enticingly. He smiles down at me when I step close enough that our bodies touch in several places, then run my hand idly up and down his chest over the soft fabric of his polo shirt.

"I presume we'll be staying until Sunday?"

"You presume right. Until then you can use whatever the resort is offering, I hear they have a marvelous spa, and the golf course is known well outside of state borders. I'm just afraid I will have to limit your free time somewhat, particularly in the evenings and tomorrow."

"I hope nights, too?"

He grins briefly at my purr, then catches my hand when I try to dip it lower towards his pants.

"I'm counting on that, but right now, I'm afraid I have to spend a little while in much less enjoyable company than yours."

I purse my lips in mock disappointment, but switch it with an alluring smile almost immediately.

"Just tell me where and how you want me, and I'll be there. With or without clothes."

He's obviously enjoying our banter as much as I am, which definitely makes spending time outside of sex a lot easier.

"Don't worry, I will. I'm meeting with some current and, hopefully, future business partners here. Anti corruption and bribery laws have forced us to get a little creative with pre-negotiations, but no one can fault any of us for wanting to spend a relaxing weekend in such a lovely place like this one."

"Speak no more, you know that you're just paying me for animated conversations, including travel expenses."

His wide smile states plainly that he understands my point clearly, although his grin turns even more lopsided at his follow-up sentence.

"I'd really like to see your tax statement one day, just to behold how much creativity the IRS has to appreciate."

"I can never decide whether it's a piece of art or science," I reply, then steer the conversation back on topic. "I presume you already know the crucial times for the important leisure activities we shouldn't miss?"

"Of course," he nods. "Tonight at seven, I would love to take you out for dinner, so you can meet a handful of people I consider worth getting acquainted with in a more private setting. I've heard tomorrow at eight is the best time to get the fabled pan cakes freshly prepared for breakfast, and I've managed to secure a yacht for a sailing turn after ten in the morning. Tomorrow evening we shouldn't miss the great banquet held in the ball room of the resort. I presume you like to dance?"

"I love to tango."

"Perfect," he muses, barely able to hide a grin in an attempt to appear still serious and formal. "That should conclude the worst of it, Sunday is mostly for relaxing and casual conversation. Maybe I'll even get to freshen up my tan a bit."

I can't resist that.

"I might know a way to avoid tan lines," I hedge, not even trying to be coy.

His resulting grin has a deliciously dark edge to it, and I shiver slightly when he brings his head closer to mine, whispering into my ear.

"I'd love to fuck you outside, by the pool, holding you down against the warm tiles while the breeze coming from the ocean cools the sweat right on my naked ass."

I bare my neck further to him when he presses his lips against the column of my throat right below my ear, pretending to look outside where the small, private pool next to our villa looks twice as inviting now.

"I think I'd really like that," I tell him in a low, throaty voice – but before we can get round to switching his schedule, his phone rings, and he lets go of me with a rueful look on his face. His tone is still professional and devoid of any kind of resentment when he picks up, and I leave him to his call after blowing him a playful kiss that he 'catches' with a smile that never leaks into his voice. A professional to the core, I like that, although it makes me want to give him a blowjob right away and see if he can manage to stay that detached sounding through it all.

With the first required social function less than two hours away, I set to unpacking my clothes and decide on an outfit for the evening. Something elegant, but not overdone. Dressing for a semi casual dinner in a small circle is actually harder than for most other occasions. If it were just the two of us, I would wear something sexier, giving him something to focus his attention on and worthy of undressing me with his eyes. For a larger scale event like tomorrow night's banquet, I will wear something more extravagant, in a rich color that makes me stand out and makes people notice me, in turn also noticing and remembering him. But a private function with just a couple of people is harder to judge. His business partners will all attend with their wives – ranging in age and grace, and depending on the level of casualness, marital status – and I have to fit in, shine but not outshine any of them, to reflect well on Edward. Once I get to join the conversation it will be easier to make a good impression, but the choice of dress is always a bit of a hazard.

From the limited wardrobe I was able to bring, I select a gray dress that should work well with my complexion. It is form fitting, but the slightly draped fabric flows over the small imperfections of my body, hiding the lack of cleavage, while my shoulders partly covered, lend the dress an air of elegance without leaving it too plain. It highlights my good side without pointing out that I'm probably half the age of some of the women present, a sexy touch without revealing anything. The perfect cocktail dress, I hope.

Although I am a little worse for wear from the wind on the drive over, my hair doesn't need washing yet, so I pin it up for my shower. When I step out, Edward is leaning against the door, clearly appreciating the view.

"See something you want?" I try to coax him into actually stepping into the room.

"I like your hair up," he remarks dryly, then gives a jokingly pained sigh. "As much as I'd love to join you there, I need to meet with one of my associates right away. I'll be back to pick you up for dinner, I promise."

With that, he leaves me to my preparations.

I take his hint and put my hair up, winding the length of it once around itself, then leave the end trail down the back of my neck. Painting my nails to match the dress is next, and once they are dry, I slip on the matching gray lace underwear. I don't need stockings with the sandals I will wear, a comfort in the mild weather. Make-up is last before I slip on the dress, and then I'm ready to go a comfortable couple of minutes before Edward said he'd be back.

Only that he doesn't show up on time, and half an hour later, I'm starting to get that sunken feeling in my stomach that I might have spent an hour of primping for nothing. To make sure I don't rumple the dress, I take it off again and put it on a hanger, and when I remove my shoes, my feet feel better instantly without being strapped into the sandals.

Many more minutes pass, and still no Edward, nor any word from him. Eventually, I get out my satin robe and slip it on against the cooling air coming in from the patio, then order a plate of snacks from room service. Grabbing one of the books I've packed, I move to the comfortable chairs on the patio, and when it gets too dark to continue reading even with the lights spilling out from inside, I retreat to the bed, sprawling across the duvet.

It's close to midnight and I'm almost through Tina Fey's ordeal, when I hear the front door opening. For a moment, I wonder how I should react, but really, the answer is easy. I'm not his girlfriend, I don't have to act disappointed and hurt by being stood up, although part of me would have liked to know ahead of time.

Edward seems to be thinking along the same lines as he slowly enters the bedroom, his face insufficiently lit by the soft bedside lamp. I put down my book and roll over onto my back, then prop myself up with my elbows below my body, offering him a small but real smile.

"I'm sorry, I should have left a message."

Yes, he should have, but the fact that he's aware of that, is all the apology I need.

"I ordered room service, I hope you don't mind?"

"I'm glad you did, actually."

I can see that he's already relaxing, but I want the slightly strained air gone between us, so I get up and walk over to him, letting my smile grow as the distance between us shrinks.

"I hope your business talk went well?"

The corner of his mouth jerks up when I reach him and stroke my hand down his chest similarly to how I've done before.

"Great, actually, which was the reason why I couldn't just get up and leave earlier. The competition was strong, but no match for me, neither with arguments nor holding their liquor."

Below the heady scent of cigar smoke coming off him, I've almost missed the note of whiskey on his breath, but when I rise onto my tiptoes so I can kiss him, I can clearly taste it. He doesn't even seem tipsy to me, but once he starts smiling he seems incapable of stopping, hinting at a higher level of intoxication than he shows otherwise.

"That's great, I'm glad you could make some progress so shortly after coming here."

He nods, then narrows his eyes slightly, blinking twice to be able to focus on me.

"Shouldn't you be pissed at me or something?"

I step away from him, and he looks almost hurt immediately, but that changes when I catch his hand in mine and start pulling him towards the bed, as I walk backwards.

"Why should I be? I spent a nice evening with a good book, I don't see what's so bad about that."

"I stood you up. I broke my promise. You have every right to be angry with me."

By now we've reached the bed and I crawl onto it, then coax him in after me, and he follows willingly. His eyes snag to the bit of breast that peeks out of my robe when my motions loosen the belt and make it gape open, revealing naked skin framed in black satin.

"Whether planned or coincidental, you paid me for having some free time on my own instead of working the entire time. I appreciate your concern, but it's entirely unfounded."

He eventually looks up at my face again when I beckon him with a finger, but he doesn't follow me further than to remain half crouching, half kneeling at the foot of the bed.

"I, ah, should grab a shower, I must be stinking like a smoked and pickled monkey."

I stop him from moving away by quickly reaching for him, then grab his polo shirt and pull on it more energetically, until he lets himself fall onto the mattress.

"I don't care if you don't. Plus enough exertion will make you sweat out all the alcohol and cover the cigar scent, anyway."

He obviously likes my insinuation, but then winces when he pushes himself up on one elbow to crawl further up the bed.

"Pulled a muscle?" I venture a guess.

"No, just tense as hell," he grunts, then manages to somehow push himself off the bed and pull off his shirt in one go. I stop him before he can fumble with his belt and pants, making short work of both with deft motions of my fingers. He stares a little stupidly after me when I prance into the adjacent bathroom, then return with two of the fluffy bath towels and a bottle of lightly scented oil.

"Let me take a look at those tense muscles of yours," I purr, then spread one of the towels over the duvet, and keep the second folded as a makeshift pillow. I don't think he takes me entirely serious when he crawls onto the towel, but plays along well enough.

Retying the belt of the robe to keep it out of the way I pour some oil into my palms, warming it up before I start working on his upper back and shoulders. Five seconds in, he sees the error in his thinking, uttering a rather pained groan when I find the exact knot I need to loosen, but he relaxes soon after that.

"You really know what you're doing, right?" He utters a while later between a few grunts and moans that don't sound entirely non-sexual.

"I told you before that I don't fake it," I laugh, and as his upper back is mostly taken care of now, move my oil slick hands down to his ass. I'm tempted to give his cock and balls an equally thorough work over of an entirely different kind, but knowing that oil will erode the latex of the condoms, I leave it at a playful slap on his left butt cheek.

"Better now?"

"A lot," comes his growled answer, and I have barely enough time to register the change in his tone before I find my arms grabbed and my body pressed into the bedding, with him perched over me. While his blood alcohol levels can't have decreased much in the meantime, his motions are deft and sure when he undoes my belt and pushes my robe open, revealing my naked body to his gaze once more.

He goes for my breasts first, not surprising from how he has been eyeing them already, and I wonder when exactly I should stop him to grab a rubber from the drawer of the nightstand, when I realize that he's kissing and licking a very determined line down my stomach for another reason entirely than to have me open and ready for his cock. I try to move away and close my legs, but he has me pinned quite efficiently all of a sudden, and the sensation of his tongue slowly licking up between my labia and over my clit crushes my resistance momentarily. I still manage to gather my wits before he can go to town on my pussy.

A dismayed sound rumbles out of his chest when I grab his chin and force him to look up my body, at least in the general direction of my face, and I wait for his eyes to focus on mine before I speak.

"You really don't have to do that because you feel like you should apologize for standing me up."

My words confuse him – and probably rightly so, because I do feel vaguely stupid for refusing to let him eat me out, but to me it feels like he's doing it for the wrong reasons. We still have two entire days together, I don't want to risk our current harmonic way around each other for a couple of minutes of pleasure that maybe make him feel weird tomorrow.

Eventually he nods, and I let go of his chin again. His eyes snag back to my pussy, then return to my face, his features already turning out a devious grin.

"And what about if I want to make you writhe and scream as you come all over my face, letting all those impotent fuckers hear just how insufficient they are between the sheets?"

"Are you serious?" I huff, unable to hold the laughter bubbling up inside of me in any longer.

"Huh, I guess most of the other houses are too far away to really hear you, but it's about making a point." He stops then and squints. "No, wait, that came out wrong. Not like that. I -" Again he breaks off, then shakes his head vigorously to clear it.

"We should probably do something else if you can't make up your mind about this?" I offer, still laughing. He only keeps shaking his head.

"No. That was the part of it that should have stayed in my inner monologue. I know, I get so terribly sophisticated after half a bottle of Scotch." Finally reaching what level of clarity he's aiming for, he looks at me intently again, his gaze seemingly more focused.

"What I want is to lick you until you come on my tongue and fingers. I love watching you come, and I get a kick out of being the one who makes you lose what little inhibitions you still have. You're so refreshingly honest in your orgasm, you don't do all that weird moaning and bucking that you always see in porn, you also don't go all shy and 'oh my, what will he think of me when I don't look like a picture perfect princess when I come, and oh, no, my pussy is all smelly and gross and eww!' -"

He gets lost in his own hilarious imitation of a woman I hope I'll never meet, if she's even real, but then gets a grip on himself again, his left hand slowly stroking up and down my still spread thighs.

"Does that make any sense? It kind of does inside my head, but I'm seriously starting to debate my ability to communicate before the sun rises again. Can you just let me shut up and do it?"

"Of course," I finally take pity on him, then laugh at his comically relieved sigh. "Do you want me to put a pillow under my ass for a better angle?"

The way he frowns as he contemplates my offer, then scrutinizes my pussy as if to weigh his options makes me laugh aloud again, earning myself something close to a baleful look.

"Will you shut up once I start?"

"I will stop talking back, but I won't get any quieter."

"Perfect," he drawls, then without further ado, pushes my legs fully open with his palms flat on my thighs and sets to the task with vigor. He's messy and sloppy and rather inconsistent, his tongue, lips and teeth are all over my pussy while the light stubble on his chin and cheeks scrapes over my skin, but very effective at the same time. Within half a minute he has me panting, then unable – and unwilling – to keep in a haphazard string of moans and profanity.

Because he told me explicitly that he wants me to enjoy myself, I bring my hands to my breasts, kneading them and teasing my nipples to increase the need burning inside of me. Yet that is about as far things go, even when he adds the stimulation of two fingers inside of me, keeping me rather vocal and happy to undulate my hips against his hand and face, but not abandon all reason and scream at the top of my lungs, as he obviously wants me to.

While he certainly knows what he's doing, his drunk enthusiasm turns years of experience into a rather uncoordinated effort, and I'm almost glad when he stops to eye me askance. If he hadn't, I might have broken my cardinal rule for once just to make him feel accomplished, but like most men he's eager to switch up his tactics, even if said well tested and proved tactics have served him well so far.

"What am I doing wrong? Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

I trust that he's honest with me, so I don't even attempt to play coy.

"What you're doing is a great start, but I need some more direct stimulation to come. You can keep using your tongue on my clit, but while it feels nice, ditch the teasing and sucking, just lick me. Or use your thumb. And you don't need to rotate your fingers inside of me so much. You know where my g-spot is?"

Instead of a verbal answer, he turns his fingers inside of me a little, slowly moving them just the right way. I moan under my breath, making him smirk, then quickly go on before he decides that he has gotten enough directions for now.

"Just concentrate on that, with a little more straight fucking motion. You can use a third finger just inside or outside of my pussy for extra stimulation, or not, but keep it up with those two. Don't switch, don't change pace until you feel that I'm about to come, and you'll have me there in no time."

He nods almost gravely, then sets to the task, first still using his tongue, then quickly switching to the index and middle finger of his other hand when he sees how much of a stronger reaction he gets that way. Once it becomes apparent that has taken my words seriously, I just let myself go, reaching my climax fast under his very capable hands.

He only stops when I go slack again, placing a last, tender kiss followed by a quick lick on my clit that makes me jump. With my body slack and covered with sweat, I watch him as he crawls up the bed next to me, then gets a condom from the drawer and rolls it on, his eyes now dark with lust as they roam over my exposed and almost lifeless body.

"You know, there's another reason why I love making you come with my mouth first," he rasps into my ear as he positions himself over me, hooking one of my legs over his arm so that my pelvis is tilted up and my ass half off the bed. He keeps looking deep into my eyes while he lines up his cock with my pussy, then pushes into me in one hard thrust, causing me to moan loudly. "You're so wet and ready, and so sensitive from being freshly fucked that I can make you come again in no time, while your cunt is gripping my cock twice as hard as you would otherwise."

He follows up with a lengthy, astoundingly accurate demonstration that has me gripping his body and the sheets alike, and us both uttering a plethora of guttural sounds whenever our heated kisses don't drown them out. It is moments like these, when I know that I have the best job in the world.

What feels like, and probably is, hours later, we fall asleep with him lying on his back and me curled into his side, my head pillowed on his shoulder. I know that tomorrow will require a substantial amount of social skills from me, but I still hope that in between all that talking, we'll catch a few moments to shut each other up in a similar fashion as tonight, too.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think! See you on Tuesday for Chapter 6! In the meantime, if you are so inclined, please check out prassacut's "Roads", her wonderful EdwardJasper venture into writing multi chapter stories!**

**You can also find me on facebook (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A huge thank you goes to my beta, Cullen Confection, and to my merry band of mischievous pre-readers, L ****and C**

**Sadly FFn is still somewhat broken, so I can only reply to your reviews via PM - but you need to have that feature enabled for me to do it. Thanks everyone again who left me some love last time :)**

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><p>The next morning I wake up alone again, and I wonder if I should start seeing a theme. I've never had many clients who book me for several days so maybe the urge not to wake up next to the woman you pay for sex is not that strange in general, but at least for Edward it seems to be part of the deal.<p>

I take my time going through my morning routine, and Edward actually drops back in while I'm still finishing up reading my book sitting on the toilet. He has been out running and didn't want to wake me, something I appreciate while I tell him that it's not necessary and I'd be happy to help with his morning workout. We take a shower together that lasts a rather long time for several reasons, and I have to hurry to blow-dry my hair and put on makeup once we're done in order to be on time for our breakfast plans.

I finally get to meet some of the people I should have encountered yesterday, but it seems like I haven't been the only one who has been neglected somewhat, only that contrary to the hive of wives and mistresses, I don't really care. Pleasant conversation is running freely over the breakfast buffet, although I'm aware of a number of people shooting glares at Edward, and not all just behind his back. Towards me he might be acting like the perfect gentleman, but it's obvious that when it comes to business, his morals might be oriented a little differently.

After breakfast, we head right down to the harbor where a sizable flotilla of yachts and smaller boats are swaying gently in the water. There's a strong breeze coming in from the ocean that makes me glad that I've tied at least part of my hair back in an attempt at well arranged casualness, but it's warm enough that I don't even shiver in my short, rose colored dress.

We are early so Edward takes the time to show me around the pier, which turns out to be a not quite covert mission of grasping opportunities. Taking my hand he quickly draws me behind one of the rickety shacks serving as depots for supplies, pressing my back against the wood while his lips hungrily search mine. We don't really have the time for me to give him a blowjob or something, and any splinters in my bare knees would look very conspicuous in the first place, but just making out like horny teenagers is fun on its own. When he breaks away from me he's smiling, a real smile, not the fake grimace he has been donning non-stop during the breakfast, and I know I will see it a lot over the coming hours, and it's easy to mirror it.

Voices on the other side of the pier make our moment come to a close quickly, and he kisses me one last time with a rueful chuckle, before leading me back to the others.

Four people are already waiting next to the yacht, besides the crew that is readying the boat for takeoff. Edward's business smile is back in place as he introduces me to Aro Volturi and Carlisle Platt, and their lovely companions in turn. I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek when Aro's platinum blond doll blushes fiercely when Edward takes her hand and brushes a hint of a kiss onto the back of it. He does the same to Esme Platt, too, but here the gesture is real and accompanied by a long exchange of gazes between the two that makes me wonder if there is more than business history between them.

Once we are all on board, the skipper steers the yacht away from the dock, and Edward follows Aro and Carlisle to the shaded middle deck, looking out towards the bow. His parting remark to me is "Be pretty," delivered with a smirk and a wink, and I'm left with the other women. Aro's little plaything sashays around the men with maximum contact of her ample cleavage with her sugar daddy's arm, then retreats to the sun deck in plain sight of the men.

"I really need a drink if I have to suffer through this with a modicum of grace," Esme chimes up beside me, then takes the short flight of stairs leading to the upper deck, where a bar and a few leather chairs are arranged to sit together casually. I follow her, instinctively feeling more comfortable around her than the girl below who's busy leaning over the rail right now to show off her pert ass.

While I take a look around, watching the harbor become smaller behind us, Esme is busy putting ice cubes into a tumbler, then adding whiskey until the glass is almost full to the brim. She takes a deep swallow, then lights a cigarette, puffing hungrily until half of it has turned to ash. And all that while still standing there as elegant as a 60's movie icon. I can't help but feel deeply in awe of her.

"All that idiotic no smoking shit is killing me," she huffs as she turns to look at me. "Being filthy rich should let you pay absolution easily, but no, they expect me to actually believe in all the charities I'm supporting."

"It's a cruel, cruel world indeed," I agree with her laconically, making her bark out a loud laugh.

"It truly is!" She toasts me, then gestures with her half full glass towards the bar. "Please, suit yourself. Unless you don't drink on the job."

Answering her grin with a wry one of my own, I reach for the tongs and a longdrink glass.

"It's usually one of the perks," I offer, then pour vodka over the crackling ice cubes, but not even enough to make me tipsy. Esme watches me intently while she leans back against one of the chairs, and when I don't say anything further, she gestures with her tumbler towards the deck below us.

"Guess offering Candy down there some booze would even get us arrested in International Waters."

I join her chuckle, shaking my head slightly.

"I still can't wrap my mind around that really being her name."

"Do you think she'll float on her own if she goes overboard? I'm not sure a life raft could have any less buoyancy."

Studying her closer, I notice that some of my initial assumptions about her must be wrong. She certainly is beautiful, even more so for her age, which I place in the early fifties. While there's that slightly artificial hue to her features that speaks of careful application of botox, she doesn't seem to have had anything else done. She carries herself with grace and confidence that I hope to one day pull off myself, and the knowing glint in her eyes makes me wonder just how far from the typical trophy wife stereotype she is removed.

Glancing from her down to the lower deck, I watch with disdain as Candy sheds her already flimsy dress to reveal a cut-out swim-suit that must consist of less fabric than the top of the bikini that I'm wearing underneath my dress, then sprawls on one of the deck chairs like a porn film pro. Even in the shade and with wind whipping the ends of my hair around it's warm up here, so I slip out of my own dress. Esme briefly compliments me on the vintage cut of my ensemble, then keeps sneering down at what is doing on below us.

"Disgraceful," she snarls, then throws back what still remains of her whiskey, only to refill it, this time forgoing the ice to properly drink it after letting it warm in her hands.

"It must be hard to watch your husband drool over meat-market exports like that all the time."

I know I'm going out on a limb there that her disdain is not just rooted in vanity. Her answering laugh is low but real, and I allow myself to relax a little more.

"_Au contraire_, darling, I couldn't give a fuck's ass about who or what my husband dearest is salivating over. Our marriage is based on many things, but mutual attraction and faithfulness are not among them. No, I find it disgraceful that any woman would prostitute herself like that."

I'm not quite sure about how much of that I should take as criticism about my own profession, but I've long since stopped to care about what others think of what I do.

"I probably shouldn't judge, considering about what they say about people and glass houses."

"You're too modest for your own good," she chuckles, giving me a scrutinizing once-over. "You obviously have style, sense, grace, and most of all, self-respect. Else you couldn't change what you undoubtedly do. Plus, you're probably the most honest person on this ship, the crew included, because they get paid extra today to hold their traps shut."

"And here I thought I was doing a better job at hiding what I do for a living."

"Oh, you're good, but if you've been around as long as I have, you get an eye for discerning which of the four categories women belong to. Five, really, but you see so few powerful women who openly stand by their achievements, that I usually discount them."

"What are those four categories then?" I want to know, both because she obviously wants me to ask, and I like her sass.

"The wives, the mistresses, the whores, and what do you call yourself? Escorts, if we stay candid. You're too young for the first, you might become a mistress eventually, but I know for a fact that Edward changes his well educated arm candy each year, and you're too old and natural for a professional gold digger."

I don't know why I file away that bit of information about him, but it's interesting to learn a few things about him.

"What about girlfriends?"

"Don't be ridiculous, no man in his right mind would bring a woman not contractually bound to him, who loves him and isn't completely disillusioned yet, to a snake infested den like this. He'd be too tempted to stay holed up in his bedroom with her, and that would defy the very ulterior reason why we're all here."

"So true," I concede, then take another sip of my drink. "Why are you here, then, if it's not to watch your husband, nor to enjoy the company?"

She shrugs nonchalantly.

"Because unlike my husband, I actually work for my money. I only married him to have a convenient, pretty boy face to use as a front all those chauvinistic pigs want to do business with. And to some degree to rebel against my father, then prove I have the willpower and intelligence to be worthy of one day inheriting and leading his corporation. Carlisle has to make do with fake smiles and a stipend barely enough to pay off his whores and gambling debts, while I get to lean back and enjoy pulling the strings, just as I prefer it. Although, I do wonder why any of the college students at the universities he teaches at ever believe a single word that leaves his mouth, one would presume the academic elite of our country to be brighter than that. Edward certainly was."

"Is that how you met? You seem close." Or at least closer than I've seen him with anyone else, although I have to admit that my pool of samples is very limited.

"Clever girl, I'm almost sad you'll go the way of all the others. The last one was a bit dense, and so easily offended when I told her I didn't care whose cock she sucks for how much, but you have spirit. But I digress. Yes, that is how we met, although I think it took Edward all of two minutes to realize that Carlisle wasn't the all knowing, wise CEO he pretends to be. He later told me he was intrigued to find out who was really responsible for making the Platt empire what it is today. A bright boy he was, if a little awkward, but after taking him under my wing, it was easy to point him in the right direction."

I wonder again just what that mentoring entailed but don't ask – it's none of my concern, and quite frankly, not my place to ask.

It is then when I finally remember where I've heard her name mentioned before, a testament to how well her layers of deceptions are working for her.

"I love what you made of the Modern Art gallery your father sponsored until he died. It's rare for a curator to not fall prey to the hype of the decade but go their own, unique way. Now that I've met you personally, it all makes sense.

"You have an interest in art? Did you study History of Art?"

"No, but it has always fascinated me. I paint in my free time, but not on a scale anyone would ever want to put up in a gallery."

"I'm sure you're too modest. Art is like business, with enough confidence you can make them want to pay millions for the worst bullshit ever."

"You mean like you did for that Green Square painting? If I may be so bold, that is."

My criticism only seems to amuse her further.

"Oh girl, that money wasn't for the painting. But I guarantee you, the money was very well spent, and the tax deductibility only made it all the sweeter."

We continue to talk about art – and men – for most of the trip, barely interrupted by the steward bringing us a plate of canapés. While I'm enjoying myself a lot, I'm starting to wonder what Edward meant with his remark before he left me with Esme, when he appears on the stairs. Esme's already bright grin turns even wider, although I'm sure she's not half as intoxicated as she pretends to be, and Edward pulls me to the side to whisper to me.

"Can you distract Carlisle for a couple of minutes? He's been trying for the entire trip to keep me from talking to his wife, and, quite frankly, I'm tired of making excuses. Aro has retreated downstairs with his little plaything, apparently his blue pills are working a bit prematurely, and I would hate to leave Carlisle feeling as emasculated as he is."

I'm a little irritated at his direction, and apparently do a bad job at hiding my indignation because Edward laughs softly when he looks in my face.

"I meant talk to him, not fuck him. I just need five minutes, and while I'm sure you're actually that good, I'd hate to think that he got that close to you when this weekend you are mine."

"I can do that," I reply haughtily, then let a smile sweep away my slight misgivings of before. "Feel free to sweep in as my Knight in Shining Armor and rescue me from what will be, without a doubt, the least interesting conversation ever."

He chuckles low under his breath, then waits until I have reached the stairs leading down before he turns to Esme. I barely catch on to their repeat words of greeting, the wind conveniently snatching their sentences away, making the upper deck about as sound proof as open spaces come.

I don't have to look long to find Carlisle as he is gloating at the bottom of the stairs, clearly loathe to come after his wife – who, I expect, would only laugh in his face if he tried – but is obviously displeased with being left behind. I put on my most dazzling smile as I walk up to him, laughing to myself at how quickly he mirrors it.

"There you are, I was hoping to catch a word with you before we have to return to the resort," I throw around breezily. "Esme has told me so much about you."

Probably not the most suave thing to say in the first place, but it's funny to watch his eyes grow hard while his smile stays just as genuine looking. Unlike Edward, who can obviously allow himself not to have perfected lying with his entire face, Carlisle is a better player in this game.

"I bet she has," he offers snidely, but his tone could be mistaken for belligerence if I didn't know better.

"Indeed, she mentioned you also teach at colleges? I wish I had professors who know so much about the subject they are teaching as you do! Or were even remotely as handsome."

It is almost too easy to make him fall for it, but vanity is many people's cardinal sin. I don't even have to lie; just bend the truth a little, to get him to talk. My hand on his arm might be helping, too, but I do my best to appear open and flirtatious, but not too much so. I'm almost convinced that my ploy is working when he suddenly pushes me against the wall beside the stairs, well out of sight of anyone on the deck or coming down from above. His fingers dig uncomfortably into my arms and the disdain in his eyes would have made me back up, if I'd still have room for that.

"What are you doing?" I demand, hoping that my undignified squeal of hitting the wall hasn't ruined the effect of my words.

"Shut up, whore, I've about had enough of your mouth unless you want me to ram my cock into it."

Of course, I could deny his assumption, but while Esme has made him sound dumb enough, I'm sure that he's easily a match for her when it comes to intelligence – he's only lacking power. So I keep silent and hold his gaze levelly as he sneers into my face. My lack of an answer makes him back off a little, yet not let go, but I'll take not having his spittle all over my cheek any day.

"So you're his newest acquisition, eh? I was so hoping for a blond, or a redhead, but he always shows up with a brown eyed, brown haired girl. Guess the brunettes deserve to be fucked, too, eh?"

When I don't reply, he squeezes my arms harder until I gasp, and leans closer again until I can feel his breath warm on my cheek. For a moment, I'm afraid he is going to lick my ear or something, but he stays with verbal abuse.

"You know that you're nothing but a whore to him? A cunt he can fuck and a mouth that will tell him how great he is."

His words confuse me a little until I remember what Esme mentioned about the last escort Edward apparently brought to this retreat. Growing tired of playing the scared, little girl I turn my head until I'm facing Carlisle, offering a bright yet insincere smile.

"That's generally what men pay me for, thank you for your apt summary of my job description. I knew there was a reason why they'd let you teach at college."

He guffaws at my words, but doesn't let go, and I don't really like how his eyes seem to light up.

"Oh, you're a sassy one, eh? So full of yourself, just like him. If you're really so smart, you won't pass up a business opportunity when it presents itself, right?"

I'm about to tell him to fuck off when he digs his fingers harder into my arms, until he makes me grunt.

"Don't be stupid and decline yet. I don't expect you to go down on your knees and suck my cock right now. What you will do is call your agency and give them my number, of course with glowing recommendations and to please give me the earliest spot in your undoubtedly busy schedule. They will call me back so I can make sure you didn't just fake the call."

"And why should I do that?"

"One simple reason, to please that fucking bastard who is right now laughing so pleasantly with my wife."

"How should he care about who else I take on as a client?"

"I'm sure he doesn't give a fuck about who bends you over when it's not his cock rammed up your cunt. What he does care about is appearing to be the perfect, agreeable guy with the beautiful woman on his arm. He hates any and all altercations and social faux-pas. Just think what will happen later tonight at the banquet, when I happen to get unreasonably drunk and yell at the top of my lungs that I'm so happy for him, that he's getting such a royal treatment from you because you've sure been the whore that gives the best blowjobs that I've had in years."

I wonder for a moment just how much alcohol he has had already, but don't really catch any on his breath. He's certainly close enough that I should notice.

"Wait, let me see if I understand, you want me to take you on as a client so you don't openly embarrass Edward? I don't really see your wife act particularly pleased about that."

"Fuck my wife," he cackles, sounding a little unhinged. 'Fuck' generally seems to be one of his favorite words. "Esme would be so cross with me, and everyone would be so delighted in letting her act the poor, cheated on wife again. Just like the last ten times we've pulled that stunt. She loves to play these games, and I'm sure she doesn't care about that pompous ass getting knocked down a peg or two. She's untouchable, her reputation is so brilliantly white that they should use it for toothpaste commercials. But I don't see it reflecting well on you, if you're so indiscreet and make him lose face in front of everybody. Edward Cullen is known to have smashed entire corporations because he had a falling out with the men leading them, I don't see how a lowly whore is any match to that. If you ever want to find another job after tonight, you should accept my gracious offer."

I still don't get what this is about, but those power games rarely make sense to me. There's also no need to stir up any sleeping dogs, if I don't have to. I've agreed to far crazier scenarios than acting the poor, hapless blackmail victim who has to sacrifice herself for someone else; and business is business, independently of how it comes my way.

"If you give me your number, I'll call my agency the moment I get back to my room."

"I have an even better idea, why don't you call them right away?"

He only lets go of my left arm to get his phone out of his pocket, then holds it out to me while the fingers of his other hand still dig into my arm. I hold his gaze levelly as I accept the phone, then after a pointed pause, dial Rose's number.

The call is brief once she recognizes that it's me, and while I can tell that she's pissed at me for contacting her while I'm on an assignment, she lets me rattle off what Carlisle wants me to say. Of course, when I hold out the phone to him to seal the deal, she's all friendly and nice, and everything is settled within a couple of minutes.

Once he has hung up, Carlisle lets go of me, and still grinning, hands me his business card.

"Call me if there are any changes about our appointment, but I better see you before I have to leave town on Wednesday, or I will find a way to make your life hell. I take appointments around the clock, seeing as Esme doesn't really require me to work, nor expects me home by eight for dinner."

I don't even try to make my smile appear sincere as I take his card, then for lack of a better place to store it in the meantime push it into the cup of my bikini top. Edward is far more likely to grope my ass than my boobs, and I don't really want him to find out.

Not a moment too soon, it turns out, for he is just coming down the stairs while I rearrange the seat of the bikini, as Carlisle continues to leer at me. I do my best to ignore him as Edward wraps one arm casually around my lower back, holding my waist in what could have been an endearing gesture but screams possessiveness in light of my own rising paranoia. I force myself to calm down again as I lean into him, his warm smile helping along quite a long way.

We soon arrive back at the dock, and after donning my dress and Edward's remark that he can't wait to have me out of it again as soon as possible, we take our leave. I feel myself relaxing more the further away we get from the yacht, and once back in our villa, it's easy to hide Carlisle's business card in the folds of my quickly discarded clothes. When Edward picks me up and carries me across half of the house only to ravish me on the living room table, and again on the floor underneath it, it is easy to forget about the strange encounter and lingering feeling of unease it has left inside of me – I just don't like to act unprofessionally and talk with another client while I'm still busy with my current assignment. Sadly, too soon we have to put our carnal exploits on hold so that I can get ready for the evening banquet, and I take extra care to shower with water as cool as I can stand it and still work up a froth with the shampoo to keep any bruises away that Carlisle's manhandling might have left on my arms.

The banquet itself turns out to be a surprisingly pleasant endeavor, and I get to talk with many people about a lot of interesting topics. I suspect that at least one of the impeccably styled women I discuss the political situation of our state with is working for one of the agencies Rose loathes – mostly because of the competition, but maybe she's holding a personal grudge about someone, too – but not knowing for sure, I keep my suspicions to myself. After all there's no universal whore handshake, at least none that I know of.

Sunday we have almost entirely to ourselves except for an hour when Edward has a tennis match planned with an old friend of his, as he explains. I use the time on my own to pack, then quickly skip outside when Rose calls me unexpectedly. The moment I pick up, I hear Edward calling me from the front door, so I hiss at Rose to make it quick because I don't have time to talk.

"Well, at least you've had time to pick up some more business for yourself," she quips, but ever concerned about offering the best service to our customers, she keeps her instructions simple. "Your newest client checks out well, he's actually a good catch as I've heard from one of the other girls who has had him as a regular for a while."

I'm not really surprised to hear that just like us girls who work for her tattle behind her back, the same seems true for the former working girls who are now our madams, in regards to potential clients. Girls will gossip, a universal truth.

"Good. Whatever. When have you booked him? No, don't tell me, I'll just call you on Monday when I'm back."

"That's going to be a little late. He's going to be at your place at noon."

Not the words I want to hear, for many reasons.

"But you said you'd cleared my schedule for Monday!"

"Monday morning, sweetie, no rest for the wicked, remember?"

I gnash my teeth but remain silent, knowing that protest won't help but drag this out even more.

"Did it have to be an incall? You know how I hate fucking them in my own house."

"He specifically requested it, plus I thought you'd be happy you could catch some more rest? Don't thank me too much, babe, just spread your legs, and hand over the cash when you're done."

Even though I know that I will just call down her wrath on me, I have to reply to that, but stop short when I turn around and find Edward standing in the door, still in his tennis outfit, and not looking too happy. I'm still wondering if it's about me talking on the phone and him feeling neglected, when he holds out the damn business card to me that I thought I had already securely shoved into my dirty laundry.

Oops.

He mouths a clearly understandable, 'explain this!' to me, then walks back inside, leaving me to scramble for possible excuses, and a phone call to end.

"Rose, I really gotta go. I'll call you back later."

"Don't forget to, though, he has a few rather specific requests."

Of course he does.

"Just text me! But not now, tomorrow morning! Bye!"

I hang up before she can offer more than an annoyed but affirmative huff, then quickly follow Edward inside. He has retreated to the bedroom where he's pacing right now, and stops when he sees me linger just inside the door.

I've expected anger in his eyes, and there's certainly enough tension coming off of him in waves, but he doesn't get in my face right away. I appreciate that, a lot, because on some level I feel like he has a right to be pissed off. When I don't say anything, he sighs, then comes a little closer but stays out of touching distance.

"I'm not delusional enough to think for a second that just because we're having sex, you won't sleep with anyone else, but I would have preferred you not to make any future arrangements right under my nose."

My head is filled with stupid excuses, one more asinine than the next, but it's the disappointment in his voice that keeps me from lying.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find it. It must have slipped out of my bag."

He nods slowly, then turns around and takes a few steps back, putting the card down on the nightstand next to my purse. The situation only gets more awkward when he doesn't say anything else, until I can't keep silent anymore.

"It won't happen again, I promise."

"I know that it won't," he replies, and I hate the finality in his voice. His meaning is obvious, and I'm surprised at how disappointed I am, mostly in myself. I can't see his face because he keeps his back turned on me, but suddenly I have to say something to defend myself, if only to tell him that I wasn't actively hunting for fresh meat.

"He approached me. I couldn't say no." I don't name the reason because that sounds too much like an excuse to me. The damage is done; the least I can do is go out with a hint of dignity.

Edward seems to mull over my words, then turns slowly, and I'm almost afraid to look at his face. I don't want to see the disappointment there that I know is waiting for me.

"Did he threaten to hurt you?"

His words make me stop studying the carpet next to his feet, and look at his face instead. It's closed off, but considering what I expected that's an improvement, and while carefully neutral, there's an undercurrent of violence in his voice that startles me. Not aggression, but protectiveness.

"No, he didn't, he just-"

"What's that on your arm?"

Shit. I haven't even noticed the faint blotches on my arm just below the end of my sleeve, probably because it took more time for them to surface, but now I can make them out clearly as I twist my arm to the side and crane my neck for a better look. Edward is right beside me before I can even say something, and I almost wince when he presses down on the marks.

There's no sense denying it, and as I see that I won't get away from this without tattling a bit, I take a deep breath and try to make the best of it.

"He pushed me against the wall and held me there by my arms. He told me that he'd make a scene at the banquet if I didn't call my agent to set up an appointment for him, and that's what I did. I feel kind of bad for doing this while I'm here with you, but I thought it was the best thing to do. Again, I'm sorry you learned about this. I'm normally not so indiscreet."

His eyes remain on my face for a few seconds longer, then I have to look away simply because my own unprofessionalism is making me feel like a stupid bitch. Edward finally lets go of me and steps back, then turns towards the bathroom.

"I'm going to take a quick shower now, be ready to leave when I'm done."

I'm both relieved that he doesn't say any more, but at the same time wish he would at least get angry at me.

"Do you want me to join you? Won't take long, you know I'm that good."

I don't know why I'm trying to lighten the mood with a joke like that, but it doesn't work anyway. He just shakes his head and steps through the door, closing it behind him with a little too much force.

Things don't really change once he's done showering, and the way back to the city is tense. We talk but not much, and I'm glad that he doesn't offer to drop me off at my house. Miraculously, James is already waiting for us at the door and eagerly unloads my luggage, as if not requiring me to actually step onto the premises is a huge relief to him. In a way, it is for me, too, but for very different reasons.

Once the butler has taken the car down the driveway to park it, Edward and I are left standing at the gate, and I almost laugh when a cab pulls up before I can even call one on my phone. While the driver gets my bag and suitcase I turn to Edward, dreading what comes next. Before he can say anything, I reach into my purse and pull out the folded – and signed – confidentiality agreement that I forgot to hand over before our trip.

"I know we probably won't need them anymore, but if it eases your mind, I'm legally bound in retrospect not to tell anyone a thing of what I've heard or seen in the last few days."

He accepts the papers without even looking at them. I feel myself get more jumpy by the minute, so I do the impulsive thing and give him a peck on the cheek.

"For what it's worth, I had a good time. Goodbye, Edward."

He nods but doesn't say anything, so I quickly hop into the taxi and tell the driver to go before the queasy feeling in my stomach can turn this into an even more embarrassing moment for me.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think! <strong>

**You can also find me on facebook (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A huge thank you goes to my beta, Cullen Confection, and to my merry band of mischievous pre-readers, L and C!**

**I'm ****completely blown away by the awesome feedback chapter 6 got! Thank you all so much!**

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><p>I don't sleep well that night, and despite eight hours of tossing and turning in my bed not even my morning coffee can brighten my mood completely. I should be happy as things could have gone down worse yesterday, and there's no logical reason for why I feel so morose. While I don't expect to hear from Edward ever again, Rose hasn't chewed me out yet so I don't think there have been any complaints about me. You get new clients, you lose some, it's the way of life.<p>

I'm almost relieved when Rose texts me the codes for the 'specific wishes' my new client has requested, but while the list is harmless enough, I can see where this will end. Without the bad taste it all leaves in my mouth this might have become a fun assignment, but somehow I don't see this turning out that way. At least chances are slim to none that he'll require a repeat performance. Again, I feel frustration at myself churn deep in my stomach. I really should have been able to act less like a wet-behind-the-ears newbie, and more like the experienced, accomplished escort that I am.

It's almost time when I slip out of my robe and walk towards my front door to take my place, but following a hunch I make a detour to the bathroom, where I apply lube liberally to two of my fingers to get abundant amounts of it into my pussy. Going dry usually isn't an issue for me, and I like my work enough, even on weird occasions that my mind lets me slip into a state where it's easy for me to enjoy myself and let my body's natural reaction take care of this, but today that whole dynamic is working against me. Thankfully, resourceful people have invented KY Jelly and Astroglide, a prostitute's best friends for when she's sore or simply having a typical Monday like everyone else in the world.

With still a few minutes to spare, I wash my hands, then walk over to my door and lean against the wood, waiting for the ring of the bell. He has impeccable timing, the chime sounding through the front hall just as the clock on the wall strikes 12.

Opening the door, I only glance up long enough to verify that it's Carlisle, then step away to let him in. He is sporting that self-satisfied look on his face that I expected, his grin only growing more sleazy as he looks down at me where I sink to my knees in front of him. I wait motionlessly as he hangs up his coat and suit jacket, then holds out a thick wad of bills to me that he doesn't even conceal in an envelope.

"I like to pay my whores before I fuck them," he sneers, then drops the money in front of me. The part of me that isn't yet entirely in the right headspace is screaming to get up and tell him to get the hell out of my house. Some role playing assignments are easy, others require a little more work. This is definitely one of the latter. Instead of acting like my usual self, I swallow my pride and sweep up the few bills that have become loose from the others, then put them all into the drawer of my wardrobe. Right now, I don't care to count them, and I don't think he would try to cheat me of the amount he and Rose have agreed on.

Before I've even properly settled back on my haunches, he grabs my hair and pulls me to my feet by it, chuckling softly when I can't hold in a gasp of discomfort. He forces my head back until I have to look at his face, unable to avoid that derisive smirk. Acting the part of the blackmail victim becomes a lot easier after that. Gosh, sometimes I love my brain.

"Until I leave here you will bow to my every will, whore, or I consider our agreement as void. You better not fuck this up, or you'll get fucked for nothing. Understand?"

I nod my head even though the pull on my roots is painful, and I'm sure he can see the disgust in my eyes plainly. Instead of commenting on it, he laughs in my face, then walks me backwards towards the stairs.

"Where now?" He wants to know, almost conversationally, and I point up the flight of stairs. He snorts, then starts laughing in the back of his throat. "I don't think so."

Instead of going upstairs into my bedroom, he drags me down the much smaller, rickety stairwell into the basement.

I hate my basement, for many reasons, and I don't like the idea that he could technically lock me in here. It is usually a room no one except the heating service guy ever sees, full of boxes and junk. Like the previous owners, I've never gotten round to paint the walls or get a proper floor installed, so it's all gray, unfinished concrete. There are spiders and worse lurking in the dark corners, and the light of the single bare light bulb barely illuminates the bottom of the stairs.

Carlisle drags me deeper into the room until we're directly under the only source of light, then forces me onto my knees. I remain there passively as he undoes his pants, then pushes them down to his knees and grabs my hair again. His cock is already hard and he doesn't waste any time ramming it down my throat.

Now, I'm no stranger to blowjobs, both the type where I have to do all the work, or the client just wants to fuck my mouth, and I react accordingly. While my gag reflex hasn't made an appearance since I was 17, I sputter and try to pull back, and only start sucking and licking him after he threatens me some more. The slap of his open palm against my cheek stings but not even enough to make me cry for real, and I do my best to keep my teeth from accidentally scraping along his cock. Normally I enjoy rough sex a lot, even when getting humiliated is part of the picture, but this is not one of those occasions. I'm glad when he finally comes, thankfully down my throat so I don't have to decide whether to swallow or not, and he doesn't even make me lick the rest of his come up, but slaps my cheeks with his cock until the residues are smeared all over my face.

"Just look at you, a dirty, filthy whore, begging to be fucked. You want to be fucked, right?"

I nod, and when I see his mouth compress into a thin line, I repeat his words, the dejection in my voice barely faked.

"Yes, I want to be fucked. This dirty, filthy whore needs to be fucked so badly."

He laughs and pulls me back to my feet, this time thankfully by my arm instead of my hair, and drags me upstairs to the bedroom.

Normally, my bedroom is my sanctuary. If I can avoid it, I don't let clients come to my home, simply because I don't want some of them to know where I live. I also don't want to have to deal with walking through the rooms where it all happens, day in and day out. While I try to be as honest and natural as possible with my clients, I still don't want to show them all of me, and getting fucked in the bed I go to sleep in every night I spend at home I usually reserve for the handful of regulars I actually enjoy spending time with.

Unless, of course, some jackass has this fantasy of blackmailing me where he thinks he can crack me by debasing me in my own home. Suffice it to say, Rose must be overcharging him massively, and to earn a month's rent in just an hour on my knees, I wouldn't have said no in the first place.

Carlisle stops just inside the door, scrutinizing my décor while he loosens the knot of his tie, then takes his shirt and pants off, until all he's wearing are his shoes and socks. I don't know what he has expected but he seems a little displeased at the amount of IKEA running rampant in my room. The only change I've made was throwing an extra quilt over my bed in the hopes that I don't have to scrub everything down to the mattress to get the resulting gunk out of it again.

Suddenly his mood brightens, and his grin is triumphant as he turns to me.

"You're not even a high class whore as you pretend, a bored daughter of some good for nothing millionaire, you're a poor girl trying to peddle in rich men's business."

No idea where he has that notion from but my silence seems the appropriate mix of defiance and admittance of guilt to him, because his spirits keep rising.

"Oh, this is golden. I bet you would have sucked my cock on that ship for a couple of dollars, too, right?"

He doesn't even wait for my reply but shoves me towards the bed, making me stumble against the foot-board.

"Get in position."

Inhaling slowly to calm myself and keep my inner eye roll to where it doesn't make things worse for me by shoving me out of my assumed role, I turn around so that my back is facing him, then spread my legs and arms, looping the silk scarves already tied to the short bed posts around my wrists until they lend the illusion of me being restrained to the bed. I don't mind bondage and a little kinky play, even on the receiving end, but for that, I rent a fully furnished dungeon, complete with a proprietor who knows how to take care of their visitors, too. In my home, I don't even use fur covered handcuffs.

Carlisle doesn't seem to mind, though, as all of this is about pretending anyway. Walking up next to me, he grabs my head and pushes my shoulders and the side of my face into the covers, then sneers at me to keep standing that way. I do my best to relax, but instinctively tense when I feel his fingers on my ass, quickly finding my pussy.

"You're really such a fucking stupid cunt, already wet. You like to be treated like the filth you are, right?"

When he slaps my ass hard, I utter a pained groan and moments later, he wrenches my head up by my hair so that he can sneer into my face directly.

"I don't want to hear a fucking sound coming from you, do you understand? I don't give a shit about your wanton moans, you will take this in silence!"

Thankfully, he doesn't require an answer, and it gets easier not to turn around and strangle him when I feel two of his fingers push inside of me. He keeps taunting me about being so wet and ready for any stranger, like the wanton bitch I am, but I'm just glad I used the lube before. He's so into it that I don't think he'll last all that long when he fucks me again, so this will be over soon.

Or so I hope, until he shoves his half hard cock into my pussy, but withdraws a moment later.

"No fucking cunt that is that well used as yours should be so tight. It should be sloppy and feel as disgusting as you are. Let's see if I can find something here to take care of that."

I'll glad he can't see me glance at the neat array of dildos ready on the bed just inches away from my face, just as requested. He hurls some more insults at me when he 'discovers' them, then sets to the task of putting them to good use.

"Do you like that, being fucked by a huge, black, fake dick? You must like it, with how you keep pushing your hips back and how much your cunt is oozing already."

That is not even a lie, and from how it feels to me not much of an exaggeration, seeing as my body simply responds to the stimulation in its usual one track mind. His motions are jerky and he doesn't even come anywhere close to my clit, but even though he doesn't seem to mind about actually pleasuring me, it's easy for me to still rotate my hips the right way to make the dildo end up rubbing along all the right spots. There's no reason why I shouldn't take at least some physical pleasure out of this.

When my apparent 'sloppiness' isn't increasing quickly enough, he picks up a second dildo and uses that on me. It's one of the kind that only someone like him would probably describe as 'realistically sized', minus the ridges and bumps that cover its sleek surface. It's one of my favorite toys, but I soon start to resent it when he realizes just how he has to twist it inside of me so that he can hit my cervix with every thrust, actually hurting me. Not too much to make it unbearable, but it's something the extra lube can't help me with, so I just push my face deeper into the covers and grab the silk scarves harder, my nails without a doubt leaving small half circle impressions in my palms.

I know that the less I squirm, the less this does anything for him, but there's only so much discomfort I can fake. A few minutes later, he eventually grows bored. The dripping dildo lands next to my face when he throws it onto the bed, then he grabs my hips and thrusts his cock into my pussy. He's well endowed but no match for the toy he just abused me with, and as I don't try to tighten around him too much, and he doesn't force me to do that by rubbing my clit, I'm sure that he can't be feeling that much direct physical pleasure.

"Do you like that, having a real cock in your sloppy, overused cunt?" He jeers. I wisely keep my tongue, his instructions about not wanting to hear anything from me still fresh on my mind. I get somewhat bored as this drags on, and I'm about to count how many books I have on every shelf I can see, when he stops and leans over me, his voice raspy next to my ear.

"I want you to tell me that I fuck you much better than that whelp ever could."

And here we have the real reason for this entire farce, and as usual I hate that I can't add a "I will not utter any moronic phrases during sex" clause to my contract. I still try to do my best, seeing as the more convincing I am, the sooner I get to shower and spend my time with something that doesn't make me want to laugh from how ridiculous it makes me feel.

"Your cock feels so great in my cunt, you fuck me so hard and fast like no one else, you really know how to satisfy a woman, like he never could!"

The fact that he keeps pushing into me, rocking my entire body, and pressing my face even more into the covers makes my words barely understandable, but that doesn't seem to take away from his experience.

"Say it again! Tell the world that I'm much better than Edward Cullen!"

It's moments like that when I'm glad I didn't choose psychology in college, because the implications of this would just scare me. This way I do my best to moan and shout all the obscenities he wants me to, telling him over and over what a fantastic lover he is and that Edward doesn't know how to put his tiny cock to good use.

Then he pulls out and I expect to feel the warm stickiness of come to land on my back any moment, relaxing already with relief. Carlisle has other plans, though, as I realize a moment later, when he forces his cock into my ass.

Now, I'm no stranger to anal, and I'm happy to let my clients sodomize me as much as they like, seeing as it's one thing their wives apparently dislike or they are too afraid to ask of them, but only after some nice stretching and with a hefty glob of lube, both serving as abundant warning to let me adjust easily. Having a cock, even slick with my pussy juices and what little has remained of the lube, is not among the things I want to have happening to me.

The pain is immediate, as is my reaction, but he slams me back down onto the bed when I try to buck off it. My coordination is bad from having been locked in the same position for the last twenty minutes, and the way he keeps digging his elbow into my spine bothers me a lot more than the discomfort coming from my anus, once the initial pain starts to subside.

As much as I love my job, I know that it comes with risks and downsides, and it's not the first time that one of my clients has overstepped the limits of our agreement. I know that there's no one around to help me, and even afterwards there's not much I can do except tell Rose to put him onto our blacklist. So I do the only thing I can do and play along, trying to relax as much as possible to keep my body from getting banged up any further. My defeat must be obvious to him, and without a doubt some sort of triumph because he finishes soon with a roar. Well, at least one of us thinks that was a good idea.

I hate the sensation of his naked chest pressed against my back and his pants loud in my ear, and I have to fight hard not to shudder when I feel his come slowly leak out of my ass and run down my thigh.

Sadly, he's not yet done with me.

"Thank me."

My voice is unsteady and scratchy with tears, but it's frustration and helplessness, not fear or shame that has my voice shaking. Ignorant as men can be sometimes, he mistakes it all for what he needs it to be, considering his fantasy fulfilled. That alone helps me to pull myself back together, but I keep acting dejected even when the grumbling voice at the back of my mind shuts up for good. After all he paid to see me like this, so who am I to ruin it all with a smile too soon?

I know that when he lingers and kisses my shoulder gently, then unwinds the scarves from my hands, it is entirely for his benefit, but I play along and turn once he has 'freed' me to offer him as much of a smile I think he wants to see, then raise onto my tiptoes so I can kiss him. It's a deep, passionate kiss but with no emotions behind it, at least as far as I'm concerned, and I'm glad when he lets go of me and I can sit down on the bed again.

I don't move the entire time as I watch him get dressed. He nods once in my direction, not even looking at my face, then leaves. I follow the sound of his retreating steps down into the lower floor the bang of the door falling closed my signal to relax for good. I guess six years ago I would have curled up on the floor now after puking my guts out, but I've become jaded, and used to knowing what is real about what I do, and what isn't. It's my job to fulfill their fantasy, not enjoy bending my will to theirs.

This wasn't about me, not even about humiliating me. I'm sure that otherwise, Carlisle isn't a violent man, nor that he gets off on rape fantasies in particular, and under different circumstances, he would probably have requested something more conventional that involves a lot more active participation from me. No, this was entirely about getting back at Edward, about breaking the only shiny toy of his that he could get his hands on, even if the notion is as absurd as they get.

That still doesn't change a thing about the fact that I feel a little weird, and I quickly tear the sheets off the bed and bring all of my toys, even the unused ones, down into the kitchen to run them through a cycle in the dishwasher. Before I step into the shower I quickly text Rose, telling her that I'm okay and everything went according to plan, minus one 'slip', which tells her that he belongs on the very small list of clients she refuses. Then I let the warm water work the knots out of my muscles, and force my mind to let go of my assumed persona and wash it all away, just like the suds that disappear down the drain.

Once out of the shower I check my phone again. I have two new texts from Rose, one confirming that my last assignment is done, and the other to tell me that my afternoon appointment has canceled. I'm not sure if I'm happy about that, Khalid is always a true gentleman and right now I wouldn't mind having a nice cock and willing body to distract me, but not having to work anymore today will help letting the residual soreness fade more quickly.

Feeling like I'm entitled to some luxury today, I get a tub of ice cream from the freezer, then sit down gingerly in front of my computer. Of course, the stupid thing has to choose today to die completely, and when I get the third consecutive blue screen within ten minutes, my patience wears thin and I pick up my phone, dialing my next door neighbor's number to see whether he's home.

Jasper is a nice guy, about my age, give or take a few years. He's been living in the small house next to mine for almost as long as I've been here, and I always wonder why he doesn't seem to be able to keep a girlfriend for long. Sure, he's a nerd, as bad as they get, including the witty slogan t-shirts and a lack of a real haircut that leaves his blond hair always somewhere between his neck and ears, but he's one of the most helpful and unassuming people I know. I have never told him what I really do for a job, instead using my standing excuse of being a very eccentric old woman's personal assistant, but he doesn't even give me weird looks when I have no idea about how I've managed to fuck up my laptop, phone, or whatever other electric appliance I happen to have screwed up.

I'm lucky and he's home, immediately offering to come over. I politely decline, seeing as my bedroom still stinks of sweat and sex, and instead hop into jeans and a sweater to carry my laptop over to his house.

Today his t-shirt is dark red and sporting some kind of horned monster thing in the front, looking kind of hilarious on his tall, lanky frame. His smile is nice and warm as usual, making it easy to reply in kind, and he lets me in without any further scrutiny. While he fixes us both some coffee, I rattle off what the laptop did before it went to Microsoft Heaven, and as always I have to hide my mirth at how much he tries not to roll his eyes at me. I'm almost ready to taunt him when he eventually has to admit that this time something major is fucked up, but he promises me that he'll get right to fixing it. Considering the last time he had to do that is only a few days ago, I don't really see that happening, but who knows? If I can pretend to be a docile girl that feels bad about being forced to deep throat a guy in her basement, maybe he can revive the junk of scrap metal previously known as my laptop?

Just as he starts to type away frantically on scary black screens full of white script, my phone starts to ring. The ringtone is familiar but utterly wrong, and when I slip my hand into my pocket to get it out, I realize that in my somewhat messed up state I've grabbed my work phone, not my private one. I don't know the number but that's not too unusual, seeing as it's a cell phone and some of my clients insist on using pre-paid cards to avoid any paper trail connecting them to me.

"Do you mind if I take this?" I ask Jasper, only getting an absentminded nod in turn.

"Go ahead, there's not much you can do right now, except keep me company."

"I'm just distracting you anyway," I huff, then quickly go into the kitchen, and pick up.

"Hello?"

There's a pause in the line, then an unexpected voice answers me.

"Bella? Hi, it's Edward. Edward Cullen."

My heart starts beating faster as I hear his voice, but force myself to remain calm before I can get too excited. I might have forgotten something that he wants me to pick up or send me, although that rarely happens. Half of my underwear that I 'forget,' never gets returned.

"Hi," I reply, instantly wanting to bang my head against the kitchen table at the lameness of it.

"I hope I'm not calling at a bad time? But I figured you'd only get the phone if you could talk."

I hate the awkwardness between us that is plain even over the phone. Not being able to speak freely doesn't help much, so I quickly excuse myself for a moment, then walk back to Jasper with my hand firmly clamped over the phone.

"Do you know how long this will take?"

He briefly looks up, then shrugs, and offers me a few jumbled sentences full of gibberish that I don't get a word of. When he sees the confused look on my face, he cuts off then grins.

"Is it okay if I have it back to you first thing tomorrow morning? I think your hard drive is about fried, and I'd have to get a new one."

"Does that mean that all of my data is gone? You only rescued it last week!"

I can see that he wants to berate me about not keeping backup copies like he always tells me, but after a second he shakes his head.

"I'm sure I can restore most, if not all, of it. But it needs a few hours to retrieve all the files and clone your system -"

"Thanks, you're awesome!" I interrupt, then hug him and place a peck on his cheek. "Just tell me how much I owe you tomorrow, okay?"

While hopefully seeming as a genuine sign of affection, the kiss is part of the whole deal as I know that it always shuts him up, and as far as I can tell gets my broken equipment repaired faster than if I'd call a service guy in to help. When he nods, I leave him to what he does best. Once outside and on my way over to my own house, I put the phone to my ear again, after making sure that Edward is still in the line.

"Sorry, now you have my undivided attention."

I'm not sure if his pause is due to not believing me, as my paranoid mind wants me to think, or simply because he's been distracted in the meantime somehow and needs a couple of seconds to focus on our stunted conversation again.

"I know this is terribly short notice, but do you want to spend the evening with me?"

I almost drop my phone at that, my pulse impossible to restrain now. It's an instant reaction, almost immediately dulled by the realization that I don't feel quite up to the task, at least not to the level of ease I would prefer with him.

My momentary silence seems to be an answer in itself, and my heart skips a beat at how dejected he sounds as he goes on.

"I've realized that some of what I've said yesterday must have gotten out wrong, and I want to apologize to you if I've hurt your feelings, I really didn't -"

"Please stop, you don't have to apologize to me," I interrupt him. "It's part of the deal, you know? I'm not your girlfriend or something, you don't have to explain yourself or apologize at all. It's what makes me so alluring, you know?"

It's interesting how fast my mind lets me skip from wary hopefulness to easy joking with him, and I feel a bright smile come to my face when he laughs in turn, obviously relaxing himself.

"So you keep telling me. I'd like to object, your winning personality and that well rounded ass of yours that fits so perfectly into my hands are just as much part of it."

My ass that is still complaining whenever I sit down too fast on a hard surface, I dryly remark to myself, as I lean against my kitchen counter.

"I'd love to, really, but today is not a good time for that."

"Why not?"

For some reason, the fact that he asks so unabashedly is endearing, instead of annoying as it should be. I'm tempted to lie, at least a little, but considering how well that went last time, I refrain from it right away.

"Technically, I don't have anything planned later today, but I don't quite feel like going out to get wined and dined in some fancy restaurant, or whatever else you might have planned."

Edward is silent for a couple of seconds, and immediately raises another few notches in my esteem when he cuts right to the real matter, even though I haven't approached it yet.

"If this is about sex, we don't have to fuck. You don't even have to sleep over at my place, although I'd love to wake up with you next to me."

"It's not just that," I hedge, tempted to see how far I can play this game.

"But it's part of it?" He guesses, then pauses again. "Listen, I meant it when I said that it's none of my concern what you do with anyone else when you're not with me, so I won't ask. Unless you want to tell me."

"I don't."

He sounds frustrated when he exhales, but doesn't give up yet.

"Look, this is really selfish of me, but let me explain my plight. Today is my butler's day off, and I spent the night and half of the morning on the phone with Australia. Now I woke up, and while there's an obscene amount of food in this monster of a fridge, I don't know how to fix myself anything besides some cereal with milk. I know I could just order in or go to a restaurant, but I always feel lonely when I'm doing that alone. If you can find it in yourself to keep a pathetic man some company, I'd feel very obliged to you."

"Just how obliged are we talking about?" I ask, just for fun.

"How obliged do you want me to be?"

"You'd actually pay me to just sit there and talk to you? And watch you eat?"

"Well, yeah, although, of course, you could help yourself to whatever you want, too."

Maybe it's because I'm simply glad that he's giving me another chance, but suddenly I don't want to veg out in front of my TV tonight. With my computer broken and a really small DVD collection that doesn't sound too enticing anyway.

"Okay, but I'm not going to dress up for this."

His laugh sounds relieved, and I feel myself smiling again when I picture how his face must be looking right now.

"If that means I can stay in my sweatpants and t-shirt, too, I'm very okay with that."

The thought of him in such casual clothes makes me want to lick my lips.

"Sure. When do you want me to come over?"

"How soon can you be here?"

"Soon," I laugh. "Do you mind if I bring a half thawed pint of ice cream? I got it out earlier and it never tastes that good if it gets re-frozen a second time."

"Actually, would you mind, and I know I'm terribly overstepping my welcome here, but, do you know how to cook?"

His stuttered sentence makes me laugh as much as the meaning behind it.

"Seriously? You want me to cook for you?"

"Only if it's not too much to ask. Which it probably is. Please say yes?"

I wait a few moments before I answer, just to fuck with him, a bright smile already on my face.

"Okay. What do you have at home? What do you want to eat?"

"I really don't know, and don't care about what you want to cook. Do you want to take a look at the fridge and I'll take you shopping for ingredients then? But I have to warn you, I don't remember the last time I've been inside a supermarket all on my own."

"I'll just pick a few things on the way over then, and we'll take it from there."

"Great!" His enthusiasm is infectious. "Do you have something to write with at hand? I'll give you the number codes that unlock the gate and the front door."

I pause in my hunt for a notepad.

"You really want to trust me with that?"

"And why not? It's not the combination to my safe, or my alarm code. They change every week, too, so they'll only give you that huge advantage until Thursday morning. And knowing James, he will change them the moment you're off the premises, paranoid sod that he is."

"Okay, shoot."

I scrawl down the numbers, then hang up, and quickly run upstairs to hunt down something in my closet that looks good on me but still lets me claim that I haven't spent twenty minutes selecting what to wear. Not long after I'm done, the honk outside signals the arrival of the taxi, and I'm off, clutching my impromptu shopping list and wearing a bright smile on my face.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!<strong>

**If for whatever reason any of the sites doesn't send out alerts, I usually post all the links of my updates on my blog: dariachenowith (dot) blogspot (dot) com. You can also find me on facebook (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Couldn't do this without**** my beta, Cullen Confection, and ****my wonderful**** pre-readers, L and C!**

**Thank you so much for your reviews, I wish I could reply to all of them, but I sadly can't keep up with replying to all of them and post 2 chapters a week; I think you want the 2****nd**** chapter more than replies from me, anyway, and I'll try to reply to as many reviews as I manage, and answer all of your questions! ****Between life, studies, cramming for exams and work I ****barely have the time to write, I hope you'll ****understand.**

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><p>Asking a cab driver to wait for me while I go grocery shopping hasn't been the weirdest thing I've ever done, but the unlucky man in question seems to think so as he speeds off after depositing me at the curb in front of Edward's mansion. Shaking my head at his antics, I punch in the code Edward gave me, then walk inside. I actually don't need the second code as he's already waiting for me at the front door.<p>

He is grinning, making me smile at him in turn, and we quickly get through a moment of awkward grocery bag shuffling and not knowing whether we should hug or kiss or both or neither. Edward eventually resolves the situation by putting the bag on the floor, then pulls me close and gently strokes my cheek before he leans in to kiss me, ending with an unnecessary but still sweet, "I'm sorry," whispered against my lips.

After that, he leads me inside and I get to see more of the mansion, other than the way upstairs to the library and bedroom, for the first time. As such residences go, it has more of a lived-in air to it than just representative purposes, although it is still spotlessly clean, with barely anything out of place. The living room is huge and lavish, and actually, the first room I see that has a little more color to it than just dark wood and a two-tone monochromatic theme like the bedroom. There are a few paintings on the walls, and the leather chairs and sofa in front of the larger-than-life entertainment center look actually comfortable enough to spend an entire evening in them. It's also the one part of the room that has seen some 'abuse' recently, with a few magazines strewn around, a chocolate bar wrapper, and an empty beer bottle on one of the small end tables.

"If that was your breakfast, you really need a helping hand here," I tease, earning myself a wry grin from him.

"That's why I called you."

"Oh, it's so sweet of you that you thought of me when that combination gave you acid reflux."

I love his good-natured snort at that and walk on into the kitchen, with him trailing me. Of course, the kitchen fits perfectly into the house, although it's more high tech than I've expected. The fridge is huge and when I open it, I can't see how he couldn't have fixed himself a sandwich or something, but I'm starting to think that this isn't really about food anyway.

"This looks promising. I'm sure I can cook something with it," I remark, then turn around to where he's just putting the groceries down on the center island. "Any specific wishes?"

He dons a really cute frown as he thinks about it.

"This might sound strange, but could you make something we can eat in front of the TV? I don't remember the last time I actually got to just curl up on a couch and eat food there. James is kind of anal about me keeping my manners even when no one is around to see."

The entire notion makes me grin, and I nod to the first part.

"I'm sure I can come up with something. And your butler is a true mystery to me."

"Because he somehow manages to be all proper and still so damn insulting?"

I can't hold back a heartfelt laugh at his wonderfully accurate assessment. He allows himself a much wryer grin, then leans against the counter next to me.

"I hope he hasn't overstepped his limits with you, but I've long since given up trying to tell him how to behave, he's very set in his ways and well versed in defending them."

"It's okay, it was nothing I couldn't handle. And he doesn't have to like me and I don't have to like him, you have to get along with him. As far as I can tell he's just trying to keep you from getting too friendly with any company he doesn't approve of."

Edward snorts loudly at that, and doesn't disagree.

"Just ignore him when he gets too annoying, that's how I do it. He's been at my side since college, a parting gift from my father, if you will, and I think I couldn't live a week without him. That non-withstanding, he's almost as full of himself as I am."

"I like confidence in a man," I purr as I lean closer, letting my fingers run up his chest, but step out of his reach when he makes as if to react to it. His eyes tell me plainly that he's quickly losing interest in food while other desires swim to the foreground, but I like that he doesn't just act on that.

Turning back to my groceries, I unpack them, then get a few more things from the fridge.

"Do you mind working for your food, or are you more a voyeur who enjoys from afar?"

While I still stay with my conviction that today, I'm not here for sex, that doesn't mean I can't be a terrible tease. The fact that his anger and cold from yesterday afternoon seem all but forgotten is lifting a weight from my chest that I haven't even realized has been there.

"I'm generally a very hands-on kind of guy, although I don't mind watching beautiful women do devious things right in front of me," he smoothly picks up my line. "Although, I have to admit that I'm kind of out of my element here and not sure I can be of much help."

"You can dice the vegetables," I tell him matter-of-factly, putting a brief stop to our banter, but at the same time fueling the fire a bit more.

"Very well, just tell me what you want of me and I'll see that I'll perform to meet your high expectations."

We keep going on like that through the entire process of making finger food sandwiches, cheese sticks, garlic bread, a couple of dips, and the batter for brownies for dessert. It's nothing elaborate but from what he said I get the sense that he wants something simple – normal – for once, and I'm happy to provide that.

When everything is ready and all that is left is to wait for the garlic bread to be done in the oven, I send him to the living room to select a movie and set up our little picnic there – including the bottle of Coke that I've smuggled in with the more healthy food. I'm just done spreading the brownie batter into the pan to switch it with the bread when Edward returns, leaning against the frame of the door while he watches me. I turn around to look at him, smiling, then see the envelope he's holding in his hand.

"I didn't forget about that, just if you were wondering," he tells me.

I'm trying to decide how to react – I'm not offended or anything, but all of a sudden, I don't really feel like I should charge him for this, today. Finding my answer is surprisingly easy.

"No. If you want to, you can reimburse me for the groceries and the cab fare, but that's it. I'd feel weird about the rest." At his raised brows, I grin. "Yeah, I know, I can't believe that I'm saying those words. A whore with morals, what a rarity."

"It's not exactly an example of economic thinking. I wonder what they taught you in college." He waits for me to stop laughing, then holds out the envelope to me again. "Please, take it. I can afford it, remember?"

"I might not be as filthy rich as you, but I can easily take spending a relaxing evening with you here without being paid for it. Just keep it for another day."

He purses his lips, then pulls two bills from the envelope, which is still way too steep for my expenses. When I try to shake my head, he grunts good-naturedly.

"Come on, I insist. And I'll leave the rest right here, so if you change your mind you can just pick it up. Buy yourself a dress or shoes or whatever."

There's nothing more awkward than someone not able to accept gifts graciously, so I smile and take the money, but not the remainder with the envelope, and push it into the right front pocket of my jeans.

"You really don't have any idea how much my wardrobe costs, right?"

"Half a dress?" he hedges, then laughs when I roll my eyes at him. "No, I really don't. I have two tailors and a personal shopper for my own clothes, I only chose what colors and cuts I like, I don't go scrutinizing price tags. I also don't give a damn about brands, so as long as it looks as good on you as everything else I've seen you wear, your next outfit could come from the thrift store. Clothes don't make people, but taste and style do."

"You're a very special man," I remark, then pick up the guacamole and other dips. "Now, let's eat, I'm starting to get hungry from all the tasty morsels right in front of me."

We retreat to the living room, getting comfortable on the couch together with food all around us, and I'm a little surprised about his choice of movie.

"_Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_?"

"You sound surprised. Want to watch something different?"

"No, no, I love both the movie and the original play, but I hadn't pictured you as a lover of old movies."

"They just don't make films like that anymore," he muses, then chuckles at his own statement. "Or I'm sure they do, but they don't get such a great cast and six Oscar nominations. I love the complexity of the characters and their interactions. The lies and deceit and sexual tension, without seeming cheap. They all feel so real, and in their way so much more honest than most characters in recent movies."

I simply nod, he has summed it up perfectly. He still seems amused by my surprise, though.

"What kind of movies did you expect me to like instead?"

"I don't know," I hedge, but at his intense 'don't bullshit me' look, I shrug. "Something like _Wall __S__treet_, or _A Perfect Murder_. Powerful characters and their deconstruction."

"Why do I get the sense you have a slight fixation on Michael Douglas when it comes to me and movies?"

"Those were just two examples. I could have said something with a lot of explosions and you'd just have griped that you're taller and more handsome than Tom Cruise," I comment, then bite down loudly on a leaf of lettuce. He laughs, then picks up a bite-sized sandwich.

"As long as you don't call me a fudge packer – although for you I'd make an exception."

"Oh, not only does he appreciate good movies, he also has a wicked sense of humor and watches TV shows that both criticize society at its worst and doesn't shy away from toilet humor. If I were on the prowl, I'd say you're quite the catch."

He requites my joke with a bright smile, so I push on.

"Pray tell me, why isn't there a Mrs. Cullen around? If I may be so frank, but men of your social standing and age normally don't stay bachelors. And even if she's just a trophy wife or there to secure an even greater fortune for you, isn't it tiring eventually to always have to look for new eye candy for every social function you attend?"

As expected, my words greatly amuse him.

"I'd like to think of myself as being too honest to abuse any woman like that, while I know it's socially accepted. Maybe I've just not met the right woman yet?"

"How would she have to be?" I ask, leaning a little closer, drawn in by the open mirth in his eyes.

"Not perfect, for one thing," he offers with a small laugh. "She would have to be honest, and real, none of those superficial fawning girls who always think they appeal to me by becoming what they believe I'm looking for."

"So you're paying escorts to do exactly that? How's that any better?"

"For one thing, they never hide their motives for acting like they do. Even if they lie from the first moment they talk to any of my associates, they don't lie to me, and I know exactly why they are here and why they do what they do. I don't mind deceit, I just don't like being the one deceived."

"Good point," I admit, feeling just a little guilty again about yesterday, but he doesn't seem to be thinking of that as he keeps talking.

"She would have to be a very strong, outspoken woman, with enough character to stand up to me and not let me push her around."

"There must be women aplenty like that. Take Esme for instance."

"True," he agrees. "But they rarely want a powerful man they cannot order around. For them, more often than not, power comes with the inability to relinquish it, ever, not even for a moment. I like that quality in a business partner, but not in the woman I want to lose my heart to."

"What else?"

He thinks about that for a while.

"She should be beautiful, but that's not a strong prerequisite. Very few people are really outright ugly, and I value beauty of character more than physical appeal. If I may be so free, take yourself. If measured against the current beauty ideal, you are not slim enough, your breasts are too small to balance your more ample hips and ass. I don't think anyone in their right mind would dare call you anything except beautiful, and I'm sure they'd forget about all these so called flaws five minutes into a conversation with you."

He picks up my hand then and kisses my palm softly, his eyes staying intent on my face.

"And I hope I haven't offended you with those words."

"Of course not," I smile wryly. "I've been called worse than not-quite-perfect. But if I consider how many more men I could have looking at me adoringly, if I didn't tell Rose to keep my number of clients stable and low, I know that those so called beauty standards are, if not outright bullshit, not an accurate representation of what men really want their women to look like. Although, I wouldn't have minded a few more women in my genealogy with huge knockers to allow me to rock that whole bombshell image."

He keeps holding onto my hand a little longer, then relinquishes it to reach for some cheese sticks. I return to our previous topic to keep the silence between us from getting heavy.

"So basically, it's chance that you're still available?"

"Entirely."

"Do you even want to get married? You seem rather at ease with your current living situation and our arrangement."

"We do have an arrangement?" he remarks, then inclines his head in reply to my question. "I'm not missing something in my life, if you were wondering about that. I'm fortunate enough to be able to afford the kind of company I want to keep, but I don't keep doing that just because I get cold feet about settling down. I've never been a family man; I don't miss having someone to return home to after a long day in the office or the light pitter-patter of tiny feet in the hallway. I'm straight forward with getting what I want; I would have a wife and kids if I felt like I needed them."

"You are?"

"I got you to come over and cook for me, didn't I?"

His dry humor makes me chuckle again.

"True. Do you mind me asking about your family? You've dropped enough hints that I understand that you don't seem to come from the picture perfect image of marital bliss, but I don't want to pry."

He thinks about that for a while, as if to weigh what to tell me, and what to keep to himself.

"I don't mind talking about my parents. I think the _Time_ spread from a few years back dragged every little detail to the light anyway, but people mostly forgot about that because I don't let my past rule me. What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me."

"You keep saying that," he muses. "It's really quite simple. My mother was the cheating wife of a drunkard, probably using those few moments in the arms of other men to cope with the bastard she couldn't bring herself to leave. She had the good sense to get knocked up by one of them, a partner in a law firm she was temping for. Classical Christmas Party stuff, if I count back from my day of birth. He didn't want anything to do with her or me, but after a court ordered paternity test identified him as my sire, they agreed on some kind of settlement. He paid for my entire education, starting at age ten, with the condition that my mother wouldn't see a cent of that money. Boarding school, semesters spent overseas, Ivy League college, you name it. I only met him a couple of times, and he seemed genuinely proud of my academic accomplishments, while he obviously couldn't quite stomach that the openly acknowledged children he had with his wife of proper social standing didn't excel to the level that I did. Maybe that explains why I'm not that concerned about a lot of things that my peers obsess over."

It does, and as always, his honesty is refreshing.

"So, rhetorically, you'd also marry the girl at the supermarket counter if she turned out to be the right one for you?"

"Unlikely, I don't see how I'd meet her as I don't do my own shopping," he snorts. "But to humor your point, yes, I wouldn't give a shit about her upbringing. I have to admit, I'm a snob when it comes to intelligence, but I'm not stupid enough to assume that just because someone hasn't obtained a level of higher education that they can't be brilliant. It just rarely happens."

"That's why you order your whores with proper degrees attached?"

He laughs at my assumption, but nods nevertheless.

"I don't ask for their grades, though. But years in college should have forced most people to educate themselves and obtain a good grounding in general knowledge. I can't talk with a woman who thinks Dan Brown writes awesome books and bases her view of the world on this month's _Cosmopolitan_. I'm not even sure I would want to fuck her, even if she was the most beautiful woman on this world. The risk that she'd open her mouth would be too high."

"You could gag her," I supply helpfully.

"Not sure she'd appreciate that or understand the alluring possibilities connected to that," he retorts.

"Well, there are other ways to keep a woman from talking, you know?" I purr as I lean closer. His gaze snags to my lips, but he doesn't close the entire distance between us, just moves a little more towards me.

"Like what?"

"Like this," I breathe, then press my lips against his in an open-mouthed kiss, flicking my tongue idly over his bottom lip before I draw back again. Instead of pursuing me, he leans against the back of the sofa, his eyes returning to mine.

"Why is there not one steady man in your life? At least, I presume you don't have anyone. I could be wrong."

"No, you're not," I shake my head slightly. "I don't date."

"Because of the job?" He ventures a guess.

"Partly. But even before that, I haven't been perfect girlfriend material. Men can't really deal well with their woman whoring herself out, though, so the point is moot, as it is."

"That bad?"

"Worse," I laugh. "A while back I tried dating again, but it was a disaster. At first, they're all for it, who wouldn't want to get the service of a first class escort for free? But then they realize that when I'm just me, I tend not to be all that smooth and lovely as they expect me to be, and the thought that they can't possess me drives them insane. Sooner or later the entire sex for money issue becomes a central point, and quite frankly, I can do without the entire heartbreak and drama."

My words seem to make sense to him, but he doesn't leave it at that.

"Somehow I get the feeling that last, offhand remark holds a lot more weight than the entire statement preceding it."

"Maybe," I admit. "Then again, who hasn't been burned by someone they thought they loved before? Being a working girl is so much easier. So much less complicated."

"I'm sure many women would disagree with that."

"Because they lie."

"So none of your clients have ever gotten too close to you, hurt you, or made you feel shitty about what you do?"

In the light of my day so far, the question makes me want to laugh.

"Of course, I sometimes wonder why I'm doing this. Not everything is fun and hot, glamorous, grand. Where there is light, there is always shadow, and the brighter the lights, the darker the shadows. A lot of men think that just because they have money, they can get away with everything."

"Can't they?"

The intensity in his gaze makes goose bumps spring up all over my arms, but I hold his gaze levelly.

"Some try, but Rose does a phenomenal job making them see reason, or gets them to take their business elsewhere. I trust her to only take on clients where the risk to my personal health – body and mind - is minimal." Letting my tone go wry as I smile, I add, "Congratulations, you made the cut."

He mirrors the gesture, but only faintly. I can tell that he wants to ask me whether there have been any exceptions, and I'm glad when picks up on something else in my statement.

"But you sometimes do agree to participate in things that, to the uninitiated, might seem non-consensual?"

"Sometimes," I nod. "But don't expect me to whip out the handcuffs now, I don't specialize in that kind of things. I can set you up with someone who's more proficient than me, though, if you want to."

"No, thank you. Just being curious, is all."

I love how we can so easily traipse from possibly loaded territory back to easy banter.

"Well, in that case, a few of my clients sometimes want to do things that are pushing the boundaries a little. I'm happy to oblige them to some extent, which is one of the reasons why Rose lets me be picky with who I take, and seldom complains when I reduce my workload. It's a convenient niche. But mostly that means I don't judge and just try to satisfy my client's wishes, not something extreme. You wouldn't believe how judgmental and prissy some of the girls can get."

"Something special like what?"

I wonder what I should tell him, then select something at random.

"I had a client for a while who had a really strong foot fetish. Not just touching my feet or liking to see me in a special pair of heels, but it seemed to me that my feet were what he liked to concentrate on. He had already been turned down by two other girls, and I could tell this bothered him a lot. I asked him what he really wanted of me, and eventually he confessed that he's extremely aroused by the idea of sexualizing my feet beyond just appreciating them for what they are. With a little more practice, I managed to jerk him off using just my feet, I let him lick his jizz from between my toes, I let him fuck me bent over while I was wearing rubber boots he had previously jerked off and pissed into, and -"

"I think I'm getting the picture," he interrupts me, laughing loudly. I wait until he has quieted down again, then go on.

"Anyway. My wholesome nature also extends to what I'm willing to do for, to and with a client. The only thing I don't do is date them."

His still present smile remains the same, but there's something in his eyes that makes me want to take that last part back. It's hard to describe, but I think he must be feeling it, too.

"You would really do me a favor if you just took that money, you know?"

"If you insist," I finally give in, and as if planned, the alarm of the oven goes off that very moment. I come to my feet a little too fast and he quickly reaches out to steady me, his hands on my hip and ass almost scorching me. He lets go just as fast when I step back, and I hurry into the kitchen to get the brownies out of the oven, spending a couple of extra minutes with arranging them together with the ice cream I've brought over from my home. The envelope disappears into my purse, even if it still makes me feel weird.

Edward seems to have sobered up a little by the time I return with two plates laden with dessert. After handing him his, I take my seat in silence, and we spend the next few minutes eating, both a little too focused on following the movie for the situation not to be awkward.

When Edward breaks the silence, I'm almost glad he does, until I realize what topic he wants to discuss.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the reason why you didn't want to come over and the fact that you got defensive when I asked you about the inevitable negative side effects of your work are connected?"

I slowly finish chewing the bit of brownie, even if it has turned to ash, then swallow.

"That's none of your concern."

He doesn't like me trying not to discuss this.

"It might be none of my _business_, but it's certainly something that concerns me. I don't like the idea that someone would hurt you because of me."

I'm glad I haven't taken another spoonful of brownie and ice cream, else I would likely have choked on it now. This way I just stare at him in silence. For a moment, I'm afraid that he will shut down like yesterday, or even worse, get angry, but his relative calm is disconcerting on another level.

"May I assume then that this isn't the first time something like this has happened?" I jump-start the conversation.

Now it's his turn to look a little uncomfortable, something I haven't expected to ever see on a man as confident as him.

"Twice, actually. I was hoping he'd go the same way as last time and try to – hopefully not successfully, but still – charm you away from me. I'm sorry that it came to this, but yesterday I was completely incapable of dealing with this. That's why I called today, trying to apologize."

While I'm still confused about all of this, I feel myself relax further.

"Explain. Please."

He scratches his head, managing to look something between chagrined and pissed off, and I'm already feeling better knowing the latter doesn't apply to me.

"I have many reasons to dislike Carlisle, and the fact that he thinks he needs to humiliate the women I choose to pay for their services is just one of them. Situations like these are the reason I sometimes even hate him. He forces me into a corner, and I don't deal well with frustration. He knows that is the only way he can ever get back at me, as petty as it might be. My behavior yesterday was unacceptable, it wasn't my place to let you feel my ire, but I couldn't just swallow it all."

"So when you said you know that this won't happen again...?" I leave the sentence standing in the room for him to finish. He looks away, then reaches for my hand and starts to draw idle circles with his fingers on my palm.

"I knew he would only try once to use you to get back at me, or rather to satisfy his own need to get back at me, knowing full well that using you wouldn't do the trick anyway. I was too angry with this happening yet again to realize until later how it must have sounded to you. And if you wonder why I didn't say anything else, it's not my place to tell you who you take on as a client and what you do with them. I can see how my respect for your independence must have only made matters worse now."

From most other guys I would have considered all of that a blatant lie, but there is something genuine about him that makes me believe that he really meant it that way, and still does.

"And the money you just pressured me into taking is your way of saying you're sorry?"

"Is it enough?"

The smile that accompanies his words make me like him even more.

"No, not by far, but it doesn't need to be. As far as I am concerned, it's for coming over and spending time with you."

He nods, accepting what is clearly my final word on the matter.

"I still wish he hadn't manhandled you that much."

"You don't even know what he did, stop feeling sorry for me, that doesn't suit you."

"I can take a guess."

"Which is, most likely, worse than the reality of it."

"Why don't you tell me then so that I can sleep at night?"

I don't have to pretend to be slightly offended now.

"You know that agreement you had me sign? Well, it's almost obsolete because my contract with my agency already states that I'm prohibited from telling anyone any incriminating details about any of my clients that could reflect badly on them."

"You told me about that guy and his foot fetish."

"But you don't know who he is, nor would you even guess if you knew him. You don't even know if I didn't just make it up, or that it happened to me."

He's clearly not easily discouraged, and when he doesn't get what he wants with outright asking, he's fast to switch tactics.

"Then don't tell me as another of your clients. Tell me as your friend."

"A friend? This is how you see me?"

The incredulity in my voice makes him grin again, and obviously plays into his hand.

"No, but if claiming that will get me what I want, I have no problems with pretending for a minute or two."

He's infuriating, and he knows it, both traits I so rarely meet in a man – and in him, they are strangely appealing. Try as I might, I don't seem to be able to resist him.

"But only under one condition."

"Name it."

"This cannot reflect back on how you behave towards him. I know it will likely sour your opinion of him even more, but please, no stunts to defend my honor or something. You're not my friend, as you just admitted, and you can't do that."

"I wouldn't have, anyway. I just want to know what went down because of which you don't want to have sex at all today."

"I just didn't want to have sex with you," I correct him. He frowns, part confusion, part something else, and again I wish I could just hold my tongue.

"Because you didn't want to so soon after fucking him, or something he did?"

While I know the answer to that question, I still hesitate to offer it to him.

"It's not that simple."

"Then why don't you start with what he wanted, and we'll take it from there?"

"Take it from there?"

He grins, and without another word pulls me onto his lap so that I can either sit there sideways somewhat uncomfortably, or straddle him. Of course, I do the latter, ending up face to face with him, as he strokes his hands slowly up my sides.

"Please?"

Unable to say no to that, I give in.

"All of it was previously agreed on. Well, almost all of it. And without knowing him or you, I wouldn't even have batted an eyelash."

"You're beating around the bush, Bella."

I don't know why, but somehow hearing him use my name almost makes me smile.

"Of course I am. The stark recount is so brief I have to flesh it out somehow. But, above all else, what is important is that I knew, and I consented to it."

I hold his gaze as I pause, letting the words settle, before I go on, a little airily.

"His main goal was to feel superior and to debase me, your whore. He had me kneel at first, then fucked my throat, then dragged me upstairs into my bedroom. He didn't want to fuck my pussy right away because he said a well used, dirty whore shouldn't be so tight so he had to loosen me up with two dildos first."

I pause again, and he takes that for an invitation to pry.

"So that's why you're sore? How large were those dildos?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, eh?"

He gives me a long look, and I sigh and go on, instead of trying to throw the conversation off topic.

"No. But he made me spew out some shit about how he's so much better at fucking me than you. You know, the lame, as to be expected stuff when you tag the whore of the guy you really want to screw with, in a completely non-homosexual kind of way. I think."

"And?" I'm starting to hate that I don't seem to be able to hide much from him.

"And then he fucked my ass. Which I normally enjoy, when it's done with a slow buildup and lube aplenty, and goes on long enough and increases in intensity until I come screaming all over the place. But not so much when it comes unexpected and I'm not prepared, and he's done before I can even adjust properly. Leaving me a little sore. There you have it. No big deal, but an excellent excuse to blacklist him, because he has violated our agreement."

I can't help notice that while he's expectedly displeased with what he hears Carlisle doing to me, I can still feel his cock hard and ready for more pressing against my pussy, the thin material of his sweatpants unable to hide much. Because I can't resist, I roll my hips forward, moving against his erection, and he cuts off whatever he wanted to say before even a single word has left his mouth.

"Just so we're clear, that's entirely due to your 'I enjoy the slow buildup until I come all over the place' talk, I don't really find the idea of anyone forcing himself on you like that appealing."

"As I said, he did not force himself on me, I consented to the scenario he proposed," I reply, not even trying to hide that what he is alluding to is pissing me off. "Of course I prefer to be treated like a priced possession, but I don't mind a little role-playing. From what Rose told me afterwards, he was very specific about even the smallest details. He also had his assistant fax over a less than two week old STD test, which is standard, as you know, and agreed to take another on Sunday evening at the clinic she prefers to use, just so he could fuck me without a condom, to make it all picture perfect for him. Does the scenario disgust me? Not as much as the underlying psychological implications. I could have easily blown him off, but I didn't want his obsession to get in the way of the arrangement you and I already had, so it was the easiest solution to let him have his little fantasy, blackmail scenario."

"Just like that." Not a question, but a statement.

"Yes, just like that. It was so obvious from the way he approached me that he would want something like that, so I played along. I knew that Rose would call her people to drag up any dirt on him if there was any, giving me a reason not to take him as a client. She told me he checked out and had the reputation of someone not too greedy about paying up, which reflected very clearly in the price she set. He got what he wanted, the illusion of destroying your new, shiny toy. The hardest part for me was not to break character and laugh him in the face, but apparently my acting skills aren't that bad."

I know that I'm sounding a little defensive, but I feel like I have to get my point across clearly, leaving no room for guessing.

"And you're not even a little freaked out over what he wanted of you? Can't be easy to walk into a hotel room knowing that's waiting for you."

"We didn't meet in a hotel, but at my house."

His eyebrows draw together at this, his annoyance rather obvious.

"Your house? You let someone like him into your house, but not me?"

"You didn't ask," I point out, again a little irritated. "I normally don't do in-calls, but he obviously wanted to make things as private as they could get, so I didn't object too much."

"And you're not uncomfortable that he now knows where you live?"

This time his assumption makes me laugh for real.

"It wouldn't have cost him a fortune to hire a private investigator to find out my address. Now, at least both Rose and I know that he knows, and she will keep him on a very short list to be handed over to the police first thing should I suddenly disappear. I don't want clients in my home because I can never fully hide the parts of me there that are a hundred percent me, and don't factor into the woman I become for each individual client, but that's it. My home is the most secure location for me to work in where no one lays in wait for me, and Rose knows exactly when and where what is going to happen. He wanted to get under my skin, not stalk me, else he wouldn't have gone through Rose in the first place. Now, he's on her radar, and off my client list."

He nods, pacified by my answer if not entirely happy about what I've told him, and the sensation of his fingers still stroking my sides is more distracting than it should be.

"And your reason why you didn't want to have sex with me today was?"

"At the time, I didn't know yet you weren't furious with me or displeased in the first place," I try to placate him, but he doesn't buy it.

"That's all?"

"Isn't it enough?"

"I guess, but it doesn't sound like everything to me."

I know I shouldn't do this, but the familiarity between us is lulling me into being incapable of good judgment, it seems.

"I really enjoy being with you, in and out of the bedroom. I didn't want what he did to sully that."

He looks surprised for a moment, then a slightly devious look creeps onto his face.

"If that's the case, the best thing would be to have really enjoyable sex instead of letting the bad taste of his deeds linger on, right?"

"Why, are you trying to seduce me after you said you wouldn't, Mr. Cullen?"

"I never said I wouldn't seduce you," he murmurs as he leans towards me, then kisses me softly while his hands stroke down to my ass and push me further against his crotch. I can't hold in a moan that he returns in kind, but when he tries to push the hem of my blouse up, I stop him. He leans back, looking at me with a mix between puppy eyes and the promise to make it worth my while. At the same time, I seriously ask myself why I keep my hand pressed against his chest to keep him away.

"Will it help if I say 'please' again?"

"Not unless you want me to give in to you because I feel sympathy for you," I reply snidely.

"How about because you want to earn your money honestly? You were making a lot of fuss earlier, this is your chance to redeem yourself to your conscience."

"Seriously? This is how you try to get laid?"

"Is it working? I'm nothing if not persistent."

My resistance is going up in flames fast, even more so that our continuing banter and closeness have made me horny as well.

"And what is it that you would want to do, if I would consent, which I haven't yet, mind you?"

His cocky grin is too sure, making me realize that I've already lost the game.

"Exactly what I said. Chase away what discomfort is plaguing you."

I don't have to play coy to feel real reluctance, and kudos to him for picking up on that immediately. He pulls me closer to him so that I'm half lying on his chest, our faces bare inches apart, while he strokes my cheek gently.

"I promise I won't hurt you. Just tell me if I'm wrong and you're just not in the mood. But I have this theory that, if worked on with enough patience and care, I can make you forget about that soreness, and maybe even make it go away."

The sassy part of me wants to point out that we're not talking about a cramp in my calf, but as he keeps looking at me, I feel myself give in bit by bit.

"Lube and condoms are in my purse. Let me get them."

"I can do that. Just sit back and relax."

At my nod, he pushes me gently off him, then walks into the kitchen. The fact that he hasn't donned a triumphant smile makes me feel better about this, but a part of me is still convinced that this is a bad idea. Another part of me is also convinced that he isn't really much different from Carlisle – another dog has marked his territory, now he has to take it back – but I force my mind to abandon both points.

Edward returns quickly, putting the utensils on the table before he joins me on the couch. His motions are slow but insistent as he kisses me again, then starts undressing me. It's driving me crazy although it feels so good, and by the time I end up kneeling on the sofa, my face and arms propped up on the backrest while he runs his hand over my bare ass, my resistance has dwindled to a minimum.

True to his word, he takes his time – and he knows what he is doing – and while there is some wincing and slowing down again involved, before long he has me thoroughly enjoying myself while he keeps pushing his fingers in and out of me.

I feel myself tense up a little when he eventually stops, then pulls me gently down until I'm lying across the length of the couch, stretched out before him on my stomach. He kisses a slow line up my spine as he crawls over me. His closeness and the warmth of his body as he settles above me envelope me, and his lips settle on my shoulder as I feel him line up his cock with my ass.

I exhale with a hint of trepidation as he enters me, but it's only pleasure, not pain, that streaks from my rectum through my entire body. He chuckles softly when I moan loudly, then crane my neck to bare the side of my throat to him. Eagerly licking a hot line from my shoulder to the sweet spots there, he makes me squeal, then moan again as he starts to move. At first, he keeps himself propped up on his hands, then lowers himself onto his elbows until he's almost lying on me, but instead of feeling locked in and smothered, I feel save and protected, my skin flush with his all over. His hands pull mine out from under my head, then he entwines his fingers with mine as he starts to pick up his pace.

Though starting out slow, things heat up soon as I want and need more and more, and eventually I come with a cut-off shout, pressing myself from below against his body. Even through the haze of my orgasm, I feel him shudder, then murmur something into my hair that I don't quite understand before he comes himself.

We remain like that for a few seconds before he grabs me around the hips and rolls us both over so that we end up on our sides, but still as close together as we can manage. It's a comfortable, intimate moment that I wish would go on forever, and before it can really dissipate to let stark reality rush in, I fall asleep in his arms, a wide smile still on my face.

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><p><strong>See you on Friday!<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Hugs go to**** Cullen Confection ****and yogacat for helping ****me**** whip this chapter into shape****, and ****prassacut and chrissy1201 for their never ending enthusiasm!**

**Thank you everyone who took the time to leave me some love!**

* * *

><p>I sleep over that night, and in the morning, there's a strikingly familiar ritual to observe involving me, James, and my coffee, before I find myself back on my way home, with no trace of Edward in sight. I know for a fact that we didn't clean up downstairs last night, so James must have had the joy of doing so this morning. I can't say if that is part of the reason why he seems to loathe me, or not.<p>

Minutes after I return home there's a knock on my door, and Jasper brings back my laptop, fully functional, including all of my data and everything. I invite him to stay for coffee but he declines. As always only lets me pay him for the new parts he had to get for the computer, not the time he spent working on it. At my question if he knows what made my system crash, he shrugs, guessing that it must have been a virus or something, or just plain wear and tear. I can't help but smirk at the latter option, but he doesn't seem to get why that expression amuses me so much. He's a nice guy, but if you ask me, a bit too nice for his own good.

After that, life as usual resumes. I count the money I got from Carlisle's 'visit', the same as what Edward pressured me into accepting, and because I'm a paranoid freak and don't want to make Rose bark at me for months at a time again, put her honest cut of it aside. I check my other appointments for the week, take stock of my wardrobe and other supplies, and get my toys from the dishwasher. I still hesitate at the threshold of my room, waiting for some kind of unease to overcome me, but when that isn't the case, I decide that I really haven't lied to Edward – Carlisle might be an asshole for many reasons, but none of that will haunt me anymore.

I have two clients to deal with later that day, and when I check my phone on the way home from the second one, I see that I have a text from Rose. When I call her back she tartly informs me that a certain Mr. Cullen has requested me yet again. I have no idea if her irritation stems from the fact that she has to reschedule my Saturday afternoon appointment because of that, or she simply resents the fact that right now, I don't have to come running to her to ask for more clients because Edward is responsible for a substantial part of my income, but I don't care either way. Heck, for all I know she's pissed off because the polish on one of her nails has started to flake. Rose is a difficult woman, and I've long ago learned not to take her abrasiveness personally.

The days of the week drag on strangely after I know I will see Edward again on Friday evening, but eventually I find myself in front of his gate again, armed with a garment bag and a duffel for my stay. James barely gets a chance to frown disapprovingly at me before Edward is there, sweeping me up in his arms.

We have two charity events to attend this weekend, a banquet on Friday evening, and a garden party style fund-raiser on Sunday afternoon. The time in between, we mostly spend either in bed or lazing around somewhere with a rich bottle of wine and endless discussions. When I return home on Monday morning, I'm already looking forward to the next weekend to finally arrive, yearning for when I see him again.

Besides the troubling amount of time I spend counting the minutes until I can see Edward again, things run rather smoothly. I refuse to take any new clients that Rose wants to sic on me, but as she grudgingly admits, my regulars are providing me with plenty of work, and a good time, too.

That is, until I have an appointment with Barry again. Barry is a nice guy, early forties, not exactly the attractive sort, and the first time he came to see me three years ago he was quite the prude. In the meantime, I have gotten him to relax a bit more, freely allowing me to jerk and suck him off, masturbate for him, and sometimes even ride him. He's not exactly a difficult client as he doesn't come to me to get off – or just to get off – but I always feel like it's the closeness to me that he craves rather than his next orgasm.

As always, we spend a lot of time just sitting in the love seat of the hotel room we meet in, talking about this and that while I slowly stroke his arm, then his thigh, then lean into him so I can kiss him. It always takes some time to convince him to undress me, and eventually let me undress him.

Normally by this time, whatever psychological repression keeps him unwilling to initiate or even welcome human touch, while at the same time needing it as much as everyone else, has usually broken down enough to give him a hard-on, but not so today. So I kiss him some more and run my hands over his arms, shoulders, and chest, then tentatively lower. At his nod, I crouch on the couch next to him and kiss his cock, then start stroking it while I lick it. When he finally starts to stir, take him into my mouth and bob my head up and down the rather short distance, while moaning appreciatively. He does have a nice cock, and I like doing this. On some level even feel honored he trusts me with this when overcoming his intimacy issues must be hard each time we meet.

I almost feel triumphant when he puts a hand on my thigh – any other man would have groped my tits by now, slapped my ass, grabbed my hair to take control, but not him – but instead of relaxing further into it, he pushes me away.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, you didn't," he stammers, already blushing with embarrassment. I don a reassuring smile, then kiss his cheek, staying close but not too close.

"Do you want me to continue?"

At his nod, I lower my head to his cock again, doing my best to get him hard. I almost feel like I'm succeeding, when suddenly a phone goes off at the other side of the room, destroying my efforts. My mortification is endless when I realize that it's not his, but mine. I never forget to turn off my phone.

I pull back, ready to get up and quickly shut it off, but he doesn't look happy about me moving away, so I stay where I am, smiling somewhat pained while I wait for the call to end.

"Sorry. Shall I go on?"

"Yeah."

Only that barely a minute later, the nasty thing goes off again. Screwing my eyes shut I try to wait it out again, this time with my lips wrapped around his cock while I tease the ridge at the underside of his head with my tongue, but Barry only tenses up further.

"Maybe you should get that?" he hedges, and I give up.

Mostly annoyed at my own stupidity, I wrench the by now silent phone out of my purse, but before I can shut it off it rings again, spelling Edward's name above the by now familiar number. I bite my lip, hesitating for a moment, but when I see Barry looking expectantly at me, I quickly hit the 'end call' button, then shut the phone off entirely.

"It wasn't important," I tell him but he actually seems disappointed, as if by refusing to pick up, I've somehow rejected him, not the caller. The damage is done, though, so instead of continuing what obviously hasn't worked, I try another tactic.

"Shall we do something else? Do you want to move on the bed and watch me touch myself?"

He nods eagerly so I offer him my hand to lead him to the bed. Once there I crawl onto it, wriggling my ass enticingly as I smile back over my shoulder, then lie down on my back, my legs spread slightly, but not too lewdly. He follows me, settling next to me, but out of touching distance.

I don't mind wanking in front of a customer, but with Barry, it always seems like a setback. I need to be convincing, so I do my best to be sensual about running my fingers over my body, stroking my breasts, and eventually slipping my fingers down to rub my clit. There's minimal moaning involved because I know he doesn't like me putting on a show. Yet as I keep rolling my hips slowly, I can't help to relive my last night in Edward's bed, when it was his fingers teasing me for what felt like forever in the most exquisite kind of torture there is. My eyes flutter closed and I slip into the moment, pushing two fingers into me to quicken my pace and tease my arousal into full fruition. It doesn't take that much longer for me to come, with a rather raucous moan at the end – Edward has that effect on me, and seeing that self-satisfied smile on his face for making me utter those sounds always helps further my own lust.

With a last sigh I relax, then turn my head to look at Barry, expecting him to be more excited now. Sadly, that's not the case, on the contrary, his cock is as limp as it ever gets, and he has a weirded out look on his face.

I open my mouth to ask him what's wrong, but his answer comes before I get to it.

"You didn't do that like you always do!"

I frown slightly but that only makes him withdraw further, now also physically by getting off the bed. My first instinct is to reach out to him but that would only draw the opposite reaction from him, so I remain where I am, doing my best not to show my frustration openly.

"I thought that you would maybe like something new?" I try to salvage whatever slip I've made. I relax a little when he stops retreating, and even looks a little curious.

"It was unexpected," he offers, then clears his throat. "But if you think that will work, I'm happy to try."

His words confuse me, and he obviously means something else than me apologizing for my too emphatic moaning. Still, I'm nothing if not resourceful, and when his eyes briefly flit to the box of condoms on the nightstand, I reach for it and get one out, smiling coyly at him while I try to get further hints from what he's doing.

He stops, kneeling on the bed next to me, seeming a little puzzled.

"How do you want to do this?" he asks me, not quite helpfully, but it's not his fault, obviously.

"However you want to do it," I reply with a smile.

"In the porn films they always do it from behind but I want to see your face while I … I …," he trails off there, and finally I catch on. Letting my smile grow a little brighter, I lean back against the pillows, then beckon him closer with my finger as I open my thighs so that my feet are left and right of where he's kneeling.

"While you what?" I tease, then lick my lips enticingly. He swallows again, almost shaking with how tensed up he is, but when I glance down to his crotch I see that his cock is surprisingly close to being fully erect already.

"Fuck you. While I fuck you."

I have to admit, I feel a little lame when I realize how much of a turn-on dirty talk obviously is for him. I'm sure I've tried it before, but probably at the wrong time.

Things proceed rather well from there, he doesn't shy away when I roll the condom onto his cock, and almost eagerly settles between my spread thighs. When he pushes into me, the angle is a bit awkward and he slips twice, but when I guide him he eventually gets his cock into me. It feels nice, and although his technique is far from perfect, just the fact that he takes initiative is great. I try to move to his rhythm but that makes him stop, so I refrain from moving further and let things take their natural way with a few slightly enhanced moans. When he comes, it is with a look of surprise on his face, and he even lets me cuddle him for a short while before he moves away.

After that, it only takes him ten minutes to leave, but he never lingers, so I don't worry about it. I'm still trying to remember what I could have moaned to prompt him in that direction, but at least I'm sure I haven't done any of that weird name uttering that women always seem to be doing in romance novels. It would be kind of inconvenient to always mix up my clients there and piss all of them off.

I'm already on my way home when I remember that I've forgotten to turn on my phone. There are five missed calls now, three from Edward, and two more from Rose that came in just before I turned it on again. I hesitate for a moment, then decide that Rose can wait for another couple of minutes and call Edward back. Sadly, I only get his voice mail, so I hang up again and call my madam.

She picks up on the first ring – never a good sign – and she's clipped and cold as she barks at me.

"You, at my place, in 30 minutes."

"Hi, Rose, so nice to hear -"

"Cut the bullshit."

Her behavior alone makes me uneasy, and I'm still embarrassed from my slipups with Barry, so I don't react too gracefully to her bitchiness.

"That's too last minute, I can't make it there on such short notice."

"Do you have a doctor's appointment?"

"No?" I reply, part questioningly.

"Are you screwing around behind my back?"

"Of course not!"

"Then you have no excuse not to be there. And don't be late."

She hangs up before I can get in another word edgewise, leaving me staring at my phone in frustration. There's little sense in trying to make a stand here, so I tell the cab driver to change destination.

With the afternoon traffic light, I make it with ten minutes to spare, getting out in front of the upscale condo building. I feel somewhat underdressed with my hair still wet from my post-sex shower and only light make-up on my face now that I don't have to look too composed for a client anymore, but there's little I can do about either, so I punch in the security code and enter the building.

Upstairs where I have to wait for her to open the door, I already get a sinking feeling that only gets worse when not Rose herself, but one of her other girls opens. I don't remember her name, some twenty-year-old thing who thinks she's so much better than me because she has the _Cosmo_ approved measurements down to her perfect 5 ft 9 in height. Her superior toothpaste commercial smile makes me want to slap it off her face right away, but I decide to take the high road and keep a pleasant face as she steps away to let me inside.

I don't even need to see the other seven girls, all of them almost a decade younger than me, to know what this is. It's Thursday, after all, and while my early twenties are farther away than it sometimes seems to me, I don't forget something that has been my routine for two entire years. Rose is holding court, a Queen Bee surrounded by her followers.

Age and experience may have made me jaded, because back in the day I eagerly looked forward to this each and every week. It's the time to exchange advice and get paid, new assignments are given out and clients' specialties are discussed. It's a measure of control on many levels, but it took me years to fully understand that, long after I had earned Rose's trust and she let me conduct business on a more casual level. She rarely calls any of her more experienced escorts in, and there certainly is no need for me to be here – except, of course, to publicly humiliate me.

The fact that I don't even know what dire transgression I have committed, doesn't seem to make a difference.

Rose only looks up briefly when I take the last remaining seat in her sunken sofa circle that dominates the entire lower floor of her living room. The apartment is huge, expensive, and lavishly furnished, fitting her perfectly. My impression that something is wrong between us gets confirmed when she doesn't offer me one of her usual quips, but ignores me for all intents and purposes.

"Now that we are all here, let's begin this. Any problems I should be aware of this week?"

I notice that she glances at me briefly, but none too obviously, and I hold my tongue while some of the girls offer their complaints. Some are real, like one of them being afraid that her landlady will have her evicted soon because she suspects that the girl is seeing clients in her apartment; others are more superficial, like another girl bemoaning the fact that she always gets the clients with the smallest dicks. I'm tempted to tell her that she should be glad because it makes everything easier for her, but wisely hold my tongue as I consider how my twenty-year-old self might have argued about a similar topic. I'm sure I've never been that dumb, but I remember one occasion that ended with Rose's frustrated "then use more fucking lube!" diatribe, so it's probably for the best that I don't impart my sage advice when no one wants to hear anything.

Once that is cleared up, the girls all get out their wallets, and cash gets exchanged. Besides my appointment with Barry – that only ended less than an hour ago – I'm up to date with paying Rose her cut, and I'm glad about that for several reasons. I have no idea how many clients the other girls are having at the moment, but unless one of them has already specialized in something really out of the ordinary, they'll be making a lot less than me. Even ignoring last weekend with Edward, the money I would have to hand over to Rose in front of them probably amounts to more than they make themselves in that very same week, and I can easily ignore their belligerent smiles when I only hold two folded bills out to Rose.

"Ah, about that," Rose purrs, instantly making my hackles rise. Rose bitchy, means I'm in trouble. Rose nice, means I'm neck deep in shit and working hard to dig myself in deeper. I still don't know what is going on but keep my arm extended, and she eventually plucks the money from between my fingers. Only then does she fully look at me, and the underlying current of anger in her gaze doesn't bode well for me.

"How was your week, Bella?"

I quickly scan through my clients, but none of them have been even remotely noteworthy, as far as anything out of the ordinary happening. For a moment, I wonder if this has anything to do with Carlisle, but it's been a while since I saw him, and Rose wouldn't drag this up in front of everyone if it was something connected to him. I'm about to be made an example of, and having to deal with abusive clients is never part of that.

"Good, I guess. Slightly above average, as far as my quota goes."

The girl who opened the door for me, Angel I think her name is, smirks, but I don't react to that.

"Nothing amiss? Nothing went wrong, then?"

"No, not really."

"No reason why a client should call me, minutes after fleeing from your appointment, to tell me he's done with you, my agency, and whores in general?"

I think I would have noticed something like that.

"No, of course not!" I huff, somewhat unnerved by the implication. Unless -

"So you didn't piss off one of your most respected and gentle clients by acting like a wanton slut when all he ever wants is to spend time with a nice, compassionate woman, pushing him so far that he's now disgusted of what you made him do?"

"Is this about Barry?" I'm grasping for straws here, really, because all of my other clients, Edward included, would just ask for an encore of any wanton sluttiness on my part.

"What do you think, hon?" Her voice is so sugar sweet that it should be impossible to come off menacingly, but Rose has perfected that behavior long ago. There's not much I can say, partly because I still can't believe that actually happened, but there's no sense in blathering about it now.

"I'm sorry. That was never my intention. He seemed a little out of it today so I tried something new. I didn't really push him, and he obviously liked it. At the time it happened, at least."

Lauren, another of the girls, rolls her eyes and mutters something to Susanne at her side, both of them giggling. Of course, I don't know for sure but I guess it's because of my vague description. I wonder briefly how long it will take them to realize that it doesn't mean you're a good escort just because you use expletives in every sentence.

"Is that so?" Rose chimes, ignoring the girls as she's still focused on me. "He told me you were very distant today, you didn't shut off your phone, you didn't really seem into it at all, and he was wondering if you really enjoyed being 'fucked' by him with how you didn't even look him in the eyes but kept staring at the ceiling the entire time." She even does the air quotes thing with her fingers.

The sinking feeling in my stomach grows exponentially, and slowly solidifies into real guilt. I'm sure that I haven't been half as distant as she makes it seem now, but I can't deny that my mind wasn't a hundred percent on the job the entire time.

I normally have a good grasp on how I seem to my clients, but today I obviously fucked up, and there's no excuse for that lack of professionalism.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize he was feeling like that. It won't happen again, I promise. If he wants his money back, I will of course return it."

More snickers from the girls, and I notice the slightest tick at the edge of Rose's left eye, a sure sign that they are getting on her nerves.

"No, he actually asked if he should pay more because he feels he abused your trust."

"That's nonsense."

"Of course it is!" she exclaims, then calms down again. "I've apologized on your behalf, and I was able to talk him down from his tree. To make up for the glitch, I assigned him to our lovely Jessica here, and a free turn next time. You'll be reimbursing me and her for that, of course."

Without blinking, I reach into the envelope again and get the rest of the money out, handing it to Rose without looking at any of the others.

"Keep the change, I don't care about bread crumbs."

Rose's eyes narrow but she accepts the money in silence, while some of the girls gasp. They clearly haven't expected my standard rate to be high enough to cover one of theirs and Rose's cut of what I usually make. Amateurs. I'm just relieved to see that Jess is not one of them, and considering the comparatively nice look on her face, she's probably not the worst that could happen to Barry, even if I will miss him.

"I know you can be gracious with your momentary streak of clients," Rose remarks snidely, and just like that, I realize that this isn't about Barry after all.

Shit.

Everything inside of me wants to jump to my own defense, cementing any kind of suspicion she might have, but I force myself to relax and smile as pleasantly as I can manage. Things become even clearer when Rose moves on to the next point of our meeting, leaning back as she crosses her legs.

"Just a quick reminder to all of us, what is the cardinal rule of our business?"

"We don't fall in love with our clients," the entire posse replies, and because I don't want my exasperation to appear as a sign of guilt that it isn't, I join in their chant. Rose nods, all proud mentor, and with her smile becoming more fake by the second, she turns to me.

"Care to share your wisdom, earned in countless years on your back, with us about this topic?"

I don't know if she suspects anything or is just fishing blindly, but the fact that I feel like she might, just might be on to something, on a much smaller scale, though, makes me highly uneasy.

"You know that my track record is flawless in that regard," I reply, trying to appear as haughty as possible. "It's highly embarrassing, unprofessional and can only end badly. It is also out of obligation to keep our clients from developing even a crush on us, seeing as we can't be part of their private lives outside of assignments."

Getting dragged before the judge in a divorce lawsuit as the whore the husband cheated with, is not as funny as bad TV shows make it out to be.

"Exactly," Rose agrees with me. "Now what should we do when we suspect something like that might be happening? Say, when a client gets a little too obsessed with a girl and tries to keep her all to himself?"

Again, I feel the need to protest with every fiber of my being, but force myself to remain calm and reply without pause.

"We come to you, of course, and ask you to reassign the client to someone else, at least for a while until we can make sure that things have settled down again."

"So very true."

Her eyes bore into mine for several seconds, making the urge to speak up almost painful, but I resist. She can't be serious if she implies that I'm having the hots for a special man with an incredibly annoying butler. I greatly enjoy spending time with him, but that's it.

Rose seems to realize that I won't crack, but I can tell that this is not over when she turns her attention back to everyone. Maybe it is just a warning, her way of telling me that she's watching me, and that I better not slip up any time soon.

"And now for something completely different," she starts, then begins to prattle off the new assignments and clients for each girl. I tone that out for the most part, for once feeling old in a good way when the quote makes me grin but seems lost on many of the other girls. I'm sure Edward would get it, and likely launch into an impromptu improvisation of -

"So, Bella, I thought this would be right down your alley."

Rose's words pull me right out of my reverie, and I quickly focus my attention on her. She's grinning brightly now, very lion to my gazelle, and I have to work hard on squashing the impulse to bolt.

"Yes?"

I'm sure she hasn't said yet what this is about, and the widening of her grin underlines that guess.

"A gentleman of very substantial wealth is coming to town soon, and I'm honored that he calls me to arrange for a special occasion to show the quality of the service that we offer. Complete discretion is required, I know you will not embarrass me."

Which means he really is someone important, whatever he wants is way outside of what is usually wanted, and if I ever breathe a word of this to anyone, I'm toast. I like a challenge and generally don't have issues with the entire secrecy thing, but the set-up and presentation of this, has me highly wary of what's to come.

"Of course not. Anything I should know beforehand?"

"You will be needing these." She hands me an entirely see-through plastic shopping bag, containing a pack of adult diapers. I take them without blinking, while some of the girls giggle like, well, the immature girls that they are.

"He's into age play, then? Wants to be mommy's little boy for a few hours?" It wouldn't be the first time I get to prepare liter sized baby bottles spiked liberally with bourbon. And they always end up chewing my nipples raw, because it's less about being taken care of, and always about tits.

"No, you got that wrong, you will be the one wearing these."

That does give me some pause, while the assembled gaggle of geese does some immature 'eww'ing, but I take it in stride as I put the diapers into my purse. As far as that goes, chances are good I'll end up drinking obscene amounts of water, and champagne, then end up crouching over someone's face while I make myself come and, well, relax.

"Looking forward to it," I reply cheerfully, the fake smile making my cheeks hurt, and I feel like heaving a relieved sigh when Rose gives me the tiniest of nods. Bella has been put in her place, crisis averted.

"Here is the address and room number, you know the drill. Be on time, and don't play coy about clocking in, he's dishing out enough to elope with you for an entire week, not just a Saturday afternoon."

Or not. So much to playing Rose's game and coming out ahead of her.

I know that she's watching me closely now, and I don't even try to downplay or hide my surprise. She knows I keep all of my already fixed appointment dates in mind ahead of time for at least two weeks, there is no way I don't know that this is a problem.

"You mean this Saturday? I'm already booked."

"Really? What a shame!" Rose exclaims, then huffs to herself as she gets out her BlackBerry and starts typing away. Then she looks back up at me, her eyes still comically wide. "But look here, it seems to have been taken care of already! Your elusive Mr. C is re-assigned to Angel for this weekend, starting Friday, 5 P.M., until Sunday, open end. She does, after all, meet his set criteria perfectly, don't you think? Remember, dark hair, dark eyes, college education, larger than life ego?"

I hold her gaze steadily, while I have to bite the inside of my cheek not to add that she might make the cut if scientists suddenly invent something to raise your IQ at least 50 points and imprint you with class and style, but as I'm aware just how petty and defensive that would make me sound, I wait until I manage to cram those words down my own throat.

"I'm sure she does. I just hope the client won't feel like his express wish for no changes in booking has been neglected?"

"That is my concern, not yours, don't you think?"

"Of course it is," I smoothly agree with her, while I keep smiling pleasantly although I want to strangle the smirking girl to my right with her own extensions.

Now that her point is made and driven home to last a decade, Rose returns to her usual snarky yet not really unpleasant self, and I try to make the best of it. When the meeting is eventually adjourned, I don't hurry about taking my leave but don't hang back, either, yet miraculously Rose still manages to single me out before I can reach the door. With the girls now gushing to each other about the possible glamour of their new assignments and no one paying any attention us anymore, I let my pleasant smile slip, adopting a more neutral expression.

"You know that this is the right thing to do?" Rose asks me, peering down at me from slightly narrowed eyes, gauging my every reaction. I don't give her the satisfaction of sneering back at her, but simply answer her, tuning my voice as flat as it will go.

"You always know best, Rose, I trust your fair and honest judgment."

"Good."

With that she turns around, a clear dismissal if there ever was one, and I turn around and leave.

I have no further assignments that day, same as Friday, as my usual routine with Edward has previously prompted Rose to keep that window open to make sure that I'm in top form. The entire time I'm moody, but deep inside I expect my phone to ring any moment now. There is still the matter of Edward's calls, although I'm starting to wonder if that was about Rose informing him of the change of plans. I still don't give up hope as the afternoon drags on, but 5 P.M. comes and goes without him calling I wonder what the hell is wrong.

Doubt is slowly starting to gnaw on me, and I wonder if there's not more truth to Rose's words than I like to admit. For one, I shouldn't be that upset about being rescheduled – Edward and I do get along exceptionally well, but it has happened with other clients before, and will likely happen with someone else again. Then there is that fact that despite her youthful ignorance, Angel is a beautiful, intelligent woman, at least when she's not looking down at who she perceives to be her lessers, and it isn't like Edward's requirements were exactly cut out to describe just me.

By nightfall two hours later, I'm slowly accepting my fate, and trying very hard not to picture the two of them locked in some semi acrobatic sex positions I can't quite pull off because I'm neither a porn star, nor a yoga aficionado. Sure, what she might make up in flexibility I can easily provide in charm and intellect, but in my line of work eventually tits and the willingness to get fucked while being bent over backwards usually outguns quoting Proust flawlessly and appropriately at all times.

I'm about to succumb to an evening with a bottle of red wine and some abysmal romantic comedy when my doorbell rings once, twice, three times. That reminds me that I've probably forgotten to drop my rent check in my landlord's PO box, and as it is, this is one more fuckup I'm not ready to deal with right now. But whoever is outside is persistent, so eventually I pull on a slouchy sweater over my tank top, trying to hide the fact that I've long since taken off my bra, and make my way over to the front door.

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><p><strong>I'd love to know what you think! <strong>

**See you on Tuesday!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hugs go to** **Cullen Confection and yogacat for helping me** **whip this chapter into shape, and prassacut and chrissy1201 for their never ending enthusiasm!**

**Thank you everyone who took the time to leave me some love!**

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><p>When I open the door, I find a truly unexpected guest outside. It's thankfully not my landlord, ready to wring my neck, nor is it Rose, the runner-up on my most-unwelcome list. No, it is James the Butler, as usual immaculately dressed in a white shirt and a dark gray suit, a somber gray tie completing the bland ensemble.<p>

He gives me a once-over that leaves no doubt as to what he thinks about my washed out leggings and sweater outfit, and when he speaks, his tone is as laced with irony.

"Good evening, Miss Swan, as always you are dressed for the occasion."

"You should be glad I'm dressed at all," I reply, trying hard not to let the flicker of hope deep inside my chest bloom into something that he will probably squash with his next sentence. Considering what my mind is unhelpfully supplying right now as far as Edward and my replacement might be up to, James could just have fled the house, and now take some satisfaction by spreading the misery.

It is then that something else occurs to me.

"Hey, how do you even know where I live?"

He remains as laconic as always in his answer, not fazed at all by the accusation in my tone.

"Mr. Cullen told me to drive over to this address. It is none of my concern who he obtained it from."

"He did?" I hedge, then force myself to remain calm and composed. "Did he also say why?"

"Of course."

I wait for him to go on but he doesn't.

"And why are you here?"

"Mr. Cullen sent me here to pick you up, in the, it pains me to admit, likely case that you will agree to accompany me. He specified that I should only tell you to grab your passport and come with me, but I feel it is my obligation to inform you that your current outfit is not suited at all for this endeavor."

"Endeavor?" Try as I might, it's impossible for me to keep my rising excitement out of my voice.

"I thought I just made myself clear. A woman of your profession should know how to take directions."

As infuriating as his non-answers are, they can't really unsettle me.

"I've always been different." He just keeps staring blankly at me, so I incline my head. "What do you think I should be wearing then? And should I bring something?"

"Something classy that does not scream 'whore' at a hundred paces. Appropriate for travel. Mr. Cullen intends to keep to the plan he made earlier this week before his schedule was encroached upon, that should give you a hint about what time frame we are talking about. If you are as smart as you claim to be, that should be information enough."

While his insults still make me want to lash out at him, I'm simply too happy now to lower myself to that level. Turning away from him, I step back inside, then stop.

"Do you want to come in while I change? Have some coffee?"

The disdain on his face already tells me his answer, but he gives a verbal one nevertheless.

"No on both accounts. And I would welcome it if you would hurry. We are already running late."

I don't want to try his patience, so for the sake of leaving my previous dark thoughts behind, I heed his advice. Once again, I have no idea what Edward has planned, but there are things aplenty that I need wherever we may go. Underwear, shoes, a silk night dress that feels like liquid silk slithering over my body and I will hopefully not wear for long. I decide to wear a light gray pant suit with a black halter top underneath, mostly to show James that I rock something else besides dresses, too, but also because I can easily wear it on any occasion with a backup blouse that covers a greater percentage of my cleavage.

Somehow I manage to get my suitcase packed and my make-up done in under fifteen minutes, and I'm already halfway down the stairs when I remember that I do have another commitment tomorrow. For a moment, I get the sinking feeling that all of this will just get me in deeper shit with Rose, but she has provoked it – and right now, I don't really care. If Edward had rejected me by accepting Angel as my replacement, I would have bowed to Rose's will, but now I'm running out of incentives. The worst that can happen is that we part ways, and even with Edward as my only client, I could easily go freelance. And it's not like I couldn't find another job anyway, even in this economy.

I'm aware that I'm partly deluding myself, but it's easy to ignore the consequences as I run back upstairs and wrap my 'utensils' in brown paper, hastily scrawling Rose's name onto it.

Downstairs again, James is still waiting just outside of my door, almost as still as a statue. He takes the case from me without a word, forgoing to comment on my choice of clothes. I see that as a good sign and lock up, holding the paper parcel and my purse close to me as I follow him to the car. It's one of the non-sports cars that I've seen in Edward's car port, and I smoothly slide into the back seat as James holds the door for me.

"We have to make a detour first, before you can drop me off wherever Edward told you to."

He's not pleased about that, but doesn't argue when I tell him Rose's address. I try to relax on my way there, but chicken out in the end and send James inside to drop off the parcel with the receptionist I always sneak by when I visit. While he's gone, I quickly text Rose that I'm so sorry that I cannot fulfill the appointment tomorrow because I have the flu, but will send someone around to drop off the required utensils instead.

After his return, James quickly eases the car back into traffic, and I shut my phone off before Rose can reply. I feel a little shitty about letting her down but I feel like she has taken things one step too far this time, so it serves her right. I know she has plenty of capable girls at her beck and call who can all do what is required, and will do so gladly, too. She doesn't really need me.

I'm not surprised when I realize that James is driving towards a private air strip south of the city. I've been there a couple of times before, but seldom as excited, but for the sake of appearing more mature than the damn butler seems to think me capable of, I try to remain outwardly calm.

The real luxury of private jets is that you don't have to suffer through endless waiting times inside the terminal. In short order my luggage and passport are dealt with, and a friendly steward leads me up the gangway into the Gulfstream. It's actually a rather small jet as they come, but I don't judge – and you don't really need that much space when you only have two passengers, as I joyfully realize when I step into the cabin and Edward looks up at me from where he has been typing on his laptop.

For a moment I don't know what to say or do, and he seems greatly amused by my hesitation. He gets up from the cream colored leather seat in a fluent motion, stepping towards me slowly, that wonderful smile of his lighting up his face. I feel myself smiling in return almost automatically, and eagerly press myself against him when he pulls me close and kisses me hungrily. Clearly, words are overrated.

A polite knock behind us has us part again, although Edward keeps his arm around my lower back as he turns to the steward peeking into the main cabin.

"We are ready and cleared for take-off, sir, madam," he informs us, and I like him even more for including me in this.

"Thank you. Let's get into the air then."

"Please take to your seats until we have reached our final travel height in a few minutes. Would you like refreshments beforehand? Dinner will be served in half an hour."

I shake my head but thank him, and once he has disappeared, let Edward lead me to the seat opposite of his.

"Unless you want to sit in the other direction?" he asks me, ever thoughtful.

"No, I'm fine," I reply as I sink into the lavish leather cushions. Edward does the same on his side of the table still holding his laptop, but pushes the device onto the desk on the other side of the aisle.

"Not that I mind your outfit, as always you look beautiful, my dear, but somehow I doubt you hang out at home wearing something that could make people think this is your jet right away."

I laugh at his insinuation while I get more comfortable.

"I think it would have killed James to let me come here wearing leggings and an old sweater. And no bra, for that matter."

"You know that I'd never protest you forgoing underwear," he winks, then fastens his seatbelt just as the jet starts rolling onto the runway. "I'm glad you're here."

I'm not sure what his words entail, but as he keeps studying me intently I can tell that he's wondering about a couple of things.

"You know that I'd never blow off our arrangements, right?"

"I thought so, which was why I tried to call you when your agency called to inform me that there had been a change of plans."

It makes sense, and in a way I'm relieved that this entire issue wasn't really caused by my mess-up with Barry.

"I couldn't get the phone then, I was … busy."

He offers me a wry smile.

"You mean you were fucking another man."

Anyone else would have made that sound like an accusation, but with Edward is just stating the facts, candid as they are, and just as amusing to him.

"Well, technically no because we weren't just there yet and I forgot to shut off my phone. The incessant ringing didn't exactly make getting to the fucking part easier," I reply airily.

"How inconvenient of me. You almost make me want to apologize."

"Almost."

He chuckles, then falls silent briefly as the engines kick in and the small jet shoots forward. Through the windows, I can see the ground fall away underneath us, as the last rays of the sun streak into the cabin.

"So why am I sitting here and not my replacement?" I eventually ask. Of course, I'm fishing for compliments, but I also wonder for real, to a certain extent. Edward takes his time answering while he keeps studying me intently, and I'm sure he is correctly guessing my motives for wanting to know.

"For one thing, I meant it when I told your agent after our first dinner together that I'm not interested in seeing any other woman instead of you. She sounded polite enough when she called me, but I did get a certain vibe from her that she was trying to piss me off."

"She was probably not just trying to get you to let go of your obsession with me, but leave altogether so that the chances that we would meet again are slim to none."

"My obsession?"

I shrug, offering him a small smile.

"She has this theory that we are getting too close. That it's unhealthy for both client and escort when he books her too often and grows too fixated on her."

"You make that seem as if you're some kind of drug."

"Aren't I irresistible?"

"You certainly are," he laughs, but won't get sidetracked. "But I don't think it's her concern how much time I want to spend with you. She should be happy for the money she's making off of you right now."

"This isn't about money. Rose is not like your average pimp here, she doesn't try to make the most possible amount of money, whatever the cost for that is. Although in this case, her overprotectiveness has annoyed me, too."

"So she thinks I'm bad for you?"

I can tell how ridiculous he thinks the notion is, and I can only agree.

"Or I'm for you, it doesn't matter in the end. But you still haven't replied to my question fully."

Once again he is greatly amused by the fact that I don't let him side-track me.

"The other points are easily deducted from the one mentioned. I could have dealt with having to go on my business trip alone, but when despite my clear instruction not to send anyone else that girl showed up at the gate, I got suspicious. I will admit, I sent James to fetch you because I didn't want you to tell me to my face that I was wrong and that you had yourself opted to end our agreement, but I can assure you, I was very happy when he called to tell me that you were coming with him after all."

"You really thought I would just let my pimp handle this instead of having the decency to tell you myself?" I can't help but be a little offended.

"I thought that highly unlikely, else I wouldn't have sent James in the first place."

Which reminds me of something else.

"And just how did you know where to send him? With the length Rose has gone to to make sure we do not meet again, I can't fathom that she would just give you my address. Did you ask for that earlier?" Somehow that idea creeps me out a bit.

"No, and no," he replies without hesitation. "But she is not the only one who knows where you live."

I consider that for a moment, then narrow my eyes slightly.

"What exactly did you threaten Carlisle with to give it up? I can somehow not quite see him volunteering that information."

Edward seems impressed with my ability to cut right to the core, and his grin is not exactly nice.

"I like your way of thinking, but the truth is, I have to admit, far from that. He is not the kind of man who responds well to threats, and I don't lower myself to that level unless I have to. In fact, he was perfectly happy to tell me your address once I sent the lovely young lady who should have taken your place with me to him."

The memory of what Carlisle wanted of me makes me uneasy for Angel for a moment as she doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who can handle that kind of role-playing, but then again I can easily picture that he might treat Edward's rejected princess differently. After all, there he could show how much of a better man and lover he is without having to fight any actual competition. From his lack of any further comments, I take it that Edward has reached the same conclusion, and I drop my concern.

"It seems like true horniness conquers all, then?" I offer, and as expected, he laughs at my quip.

"With me? Always."

The plane finally reaches its travel height, and after a discreet knock our steward returns with two glasses and a bottle of champagne. We toast to said horniness, then enjoy a delicious Beef Wellington, for dinner.

After the plates have been removed, the steward leaves us to ourselves, a smart move if ever there is one, and I can't help but feel a little lonely on my side of the table.

"Where is this trip going to, anyway? And what's with me not having to bring any clothes? You do realize that it's cruel to keep a woman from packing her favorite pair of shoes."

"And I got the impression that you mostly ignore the instructions I try to give to my butler anyway."

"It wouldn't be good for either of your egos if I complied too easily," I huff, then look him square in the eyes. "So, where to?"

"Our suite is overlooking Central Park, so that should give you a good hint as to our destination."

"New York City? Nice!"

"Just nice? I think I'll have to try better next time, then," he chuckles, but shares my bright smile. "I have to meet some of my business partners late tomorrow morning and for lunch, so I'm afraid you will have to find something to do in the meantime. Either use the amenities at the hotel, or take a short walk down 5th Avenue, armed with this." As he talks, he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a black Am-Ex card, sliding it across the table to me. "I've called the card company myself to tell them that you're entitled to use it, and knowing your impeccable sense of style, I'm sure you will use it well."

I don't hesitate to take the card – anything else would have been impolite and ungrateful, anyway – then regard him levelly.

"Is there a spending limit to it?"

"Only to what you can buy in the four to five hours that I will be gone, and have delivered to the hotel. I will be deeply offended if my next credit card statement isn't at least two pages long."

I consider that for a moment, but while I don't have any qualms burning through some of his cash, my decency does limit me from going that far. I'm not even surprised when he reads my reaction well, even without me having to voice it.

"If it makes you feel better, consider it as an advance on your payment. I fully intend to give you your usual fee when we're home again, but as I more or less kidnapped you I have to make up for that somehow."

I ponder that for a moment, then slip the card into my purse.

"You did try to separate me from my shoes and underwear, and that has to be punished somehow," I finally agree.

"Feel free to punish me wearing just your shoes and underwear," he replies, then grins when I roll my eyes at him.

I glance around, then focus back on him. "So how long until we get there?"

He checks his watch.

"At least another hour. Why?"

"Care to refresh your Mile High Club membership? At least, I expect that this is not the first time you got an offer like this?"

He answers with one of those rich, dark laughs.

"I've probably been a card carrying member since before you went to college."

"Oh, someone's so happy to brag today, I think I need to shut you up before you get obnoxious, and that right now."

Things proceed as expected from there, and we barely manage to get our various layers of clothes back into a more respectable situation again before we touch down at our destination. There's already a limousine waiting for us, and we work on renewing that membership, too, before we get to the hotel probably a little more rumpled and flushed than appropriate. Nevertheless, Edward's name and confidence get us through check-in without even a second glance, but we refrain from defiling the way too fast moving elevator. For now.

The park view suite is right out of a cheesy movie, elegant with the city sprawling before us through the floor to ceiling windows in every room. One look back at Edward's face and I know that those windows will see some action before we leave here again, but our previous exertion makes us retreat to the bed rather than another round of uncomfortable contorting and thigh muscle cramp inducing sex.

The next morning I wake up to something truly unfamiliar for when I'm with Edward – his warm body still pressed against mine while he showers my neck and shoulder with butterfly soft kisses. I'm so used to him already being up and about, that I spend another extra minute pretending to still be asleep, even though his breathy chuckle in my ear proves how bad I am at faking that. Slow and tender early morning sex definitely has its appeal, though, and I don't even mind having been woken up that early if it's in this manner of fashion.

While I'm in the shower, room service delivers our breakfast, and we eat in the corner of the lounge room with the incredible view on two sides of us. While Edward is reading the news paper old-school style, I tap away on my tablet – having caved after the recent computer crisis, and the portable device has its perks, particularly when it lets me appear all intellectual and modern while browsing funny cat pictures, not that I would do that, mind you – and all too soon our harmonic moment has to give way to reality. Edward makes me promise again to abuse his credit card thoroughly, and with him still refusing to let me in on what he has planned for us tonight, I have to get a number of different outfits just to be sure to have at least one that befits the location.

Only after Edward is gone do I switch on my phone, half dreading what might have landed in my inbox during the last half day. I'm surprised when there's only one notification of a missed call, with a text message dated a minute later, both from Rose, of course. Very tartly she informs me that she has acknowledged my state of health and consequently found a solution to the resulting problem. I admit, I'm almost suspicious of her accepting defeat so fast, but then remember that Edward hasn't called off his appointment, and Rose has no way of knowing that he has forwarded Angel, so to speak, and unless she tattles, we're safe for the weekend. Right now, that's as far ahead as I care about.

I've been in New York a couple of times, both on business and for private enjoyment, and while I own a couple of dresses that come down in the price range of some of the high end shops on 5th Avenue, I usually don't spend that much on clothes. It is kind of fun not to have to look at the price tags for once, and I smuggle in a pair of cute heels or two without feeling guilty.

My feet are killing me by the time I get back to the hotel, a little early so I can still relax before Edward is back. The heap of shopping bags is not as alarming as I've been afraid it would be, but I certainly did a good job of working at his expectations.

My phone rings seconds after I've kicked off the damn heels from hell and slumped down on the bed, and I'm almost of a mind to let it go to voicemail. Then again maybe it's Edward, asking me to meet him somewhere else, or even better, telling me I have another hour to myself so I can take a long soak in the enormous bathtub the suite comes with, so I angle blindly for my purse and pick up without checking caller ID.

Bad idea.

To my defense, I have a special ringtone assigned to Rose that warns me ahead of time, and who could have guessed that she's sneaky enough to call me from another cell phone?

"You are in deep shit, Isabella," she informs me, her voice even and almost emotionless, which makes it ten times more scary than if she was screaming at me.

I swallow hard while I screw my eyes shut, the temptation to just end the call without saying a word and blocking the number almost too strong to resist. Yet while I might sometimes be the kind of woman to storm out of a room and fling the door shut behind me, I don't just hide like a shy mouse when it comes to uncomfortable conversations.

"I am?" I reply cheerfully, trying not to let her show that her disdain does indeed affect me.

"You know, something funny just happened. There I was, wanting to bring you some chicken soup so you would get better soon, but what do I find? Not only are you not at home, but your helpful neighbor explains to me that he saw you leave last night with a spring in your step and a bag full of luggage." She lets that set in, then adds, "I don't give a flying fuck about how much you lie to your clients, but you do not lie to me."

The sound of the suite door opening distracts me for a moment, and even through I want to frown and tell Rose in clear detail what I think of her opinion, I still manage to smile warmly at Edward. He leaves it at a smile in return when he sees that I'm on the phone, then leaves me alone after giving me a thumbs-up in the direction of the bags neatly stacked in one corner of the room.

"Look, Rose, I don't really have time to talk right now, I'll call you back as soon as -"

"You will not hang up on me!"

By now her calm has mostly evaporated, which makes the situation both easier and worse for me at the same time. I bite my lip hard, trying to decide what to do, then sigh and try to make the best of it. I would have preferred to have this talk face to face, but maybe the added distance over the phone will help me get through it with my hide intact.

"Come on, then, let me have it. Chew me up and spit me out again, Rose, like you so obviously think I deserve."

My sarcasm takes the wind out of her sails for a moment, but she's quick with changing tactics.

"Your glibness does you no credit, in particular when you are trying to hide your lack of professionalism with it."

Even though I still think that I've done that right thing, that stings, particularly as it's not entirely wrong.

"Yes, I have lied to get out of a commitment you pushed me into. But really, who is more unprofessional, me for shirking my responsibility far enough in advance so that you can give the assignment to someone you should have given it to in the first place, or you when you go straight against a client's wishes, lie to them repeatedly, and try to sell them something they didn't order."

"You're so full of shit today, it's incredible," is her only answer.

"Now am I? My appointment for the weekend was booked in advance, neither my client nor I had any reasons not to adhere to what was agreed upon, but you took it upon yourself to mess with it. Please explain to me how that's not fucked up?"

I try to remain calm, but my voice is rising both in pitch and volume. Hearing Rose's laugh makes me realize that I'm still playing into her hands, so I force myself to calm down again.

"Listen, Rose, just tell me why you're calling. Yeah, you busted me, what now? Are you going to put some penalty on me, or do you want me to grovel, just name it, I'll do it. Because I always end up doing what you say, so let's just move ahead, shall we?"

I carefully don't mention the possibility of her setting me free of my contract, because while right now I wouldn't care that much, I don't want to provoke her needlessly.

Her not answering makes my stomach cramp, and she lets me stew for a full minute before she replies, her voice deceptively calm.

"Do you really think he cares for you? Or even gives a shit about you? You are a whore, Bella, and every man who calls you knows this. He might be charming and nice and funny and generous, but in the end he's still paying a whore to do what no other woman would do for him. He uses you, and when he eventually tires of you he will discard you like a filthy tissue, so someone else can pick you up and use you again. We both know that this is the reality of what we do, and we have learned to deal with it and try not to let it affect us, but when the curtain comes down it is clear where we stand."

I would love to get in her face and tell her that she's just saying all that because she wants to humiliate me and continue to put me in my place, but the truth is, I know that she is right. There is nothing like a Prince Charming to gallop in on his noble steed and whisk me away from my life of sin. Any amount of insults she might have hurled at me would just have bounced right off me, but her words, ringing with honesty and truth, cut right through my defenses.

My silence probably tells her clearly enough what is going on inside of me, and her voice is laced with emotion when she goes on speaking more softly.

"I know that it hurts sometimes. We've all been there, and not just once. But remember what you told me about your boyfriends in the past? None of them could handle it. No man can stand that his woman freely and openly gives herself to other men for money. Sometimes our lives are incredibly lonely, but it's the price we pay for the freedom to do with ourselves what we really want to. And you know that I'm right."

I remain silent, glad that no one can see the tears brimming in my eyes as I stare out at the lush green below me.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?" I hate how shaky my voice is.

"Say it. You know that I'm right."

Screwing my eyes shut, I let my forehead sink against the glass while I feel like someone is smashing my heart slowly inside my chest.

"I know that you are right."

"Good girl. Now chin up, life goes on. You've learned that lesson a long time ago, don't let yourself relapse into the stupid dreams of a naïve fifteen year old girl. You are a strong, confident woman, and you don't let anyone come in your way. Not even me. Hell, especially not me, because you still think I'm an old hag who's just jealous of your youth and beauty and is so full of shit. But don't forget this: he's your client, not your boyfriend." She lets that sink in before she goes on, her voice still low and full of compassion. "Why don't you come over on Monday for lunch? Talk about things face to face?"

She hangs up after I've mumbled something unintelligible but affirmative, sparing me having to answer to her with actual words, but the damage is done. Gone is all the righteous fury from yesterday, my conviction that she just wants to screw with me for so many reasons but I know better than her. I almost wish I hadn't opened that damn door, because wallowing in misery fueled by my anger at her feels ten times better than the sadness spreading throughout me.

A soft knock behind me makes me aware to the fact that I'm no longer alone, and I force myself to exhale slowly and pull myself back together quickly. At least until he speaks.

"You know, I think she's right."

The pain comes back twice as bad, stealing my breath away. Then my mind kicks in and I realize that he can't mean what my scrambled thoughts latch onto right now. While it is probably easy to guess that I've been on the phone with Rose, all our arguing included, he certainly can't read my mind. I try to compose myself as I turn to face him, but must be failing horribly because a frown immediately comes to his face as he steps closer.

"Are you crying?"

I try to turn away but he closes the distance between us and captures my face in his hands, forcing me to look him straight in the face. There's pain there and sympathy, but also a hint of anger and a shot of frustration.

"What did she say to make you so miserable? Did she threaten you?"

I try to shake my head but that doesn't really work with him still holding it, forcing me to give a verbal answer in my still shaky voice.

"No, she's only half as scary and effective when she resorts to threats. Not that all of them are empty, but there's not really much she can do to me besides fire me."

"Did she do that? Kick you out? I'm more than happy to pay you twice as much if you need the money, that's no problem."

Any other day I would have joked about his offer, but right now it just grates along my soul like nails on a chalk board.

"No. No, she didn't fire me. She just reminded me of a couple of things I shouldn't have ignored, that's all. And she's a royal bitch, like always, needing to defend her turf. I'm okay, really, please don't let this affect our wonderful stay here."

Slowly my voice regains its usual register, and by the time I'm finished talking, I almost sound like myself again. Just my luck that Edward is not stupid enough to believe me.

"Then why do you still look at me as if your puppy just died?"

Unable to let this continue, I reach up and gently pry his hands from my cheeks, then step away from him and turn towards the other room.

"It doesn't matter. Now do you want to see what I purchased? You should be proud of me, I worked hard to live up to your expectations."

"Bella, please stop this. I know that something is wrong, and I can't just pretend it's nothing when you're so obviously hurting."

I try to come up with a good excuse that will let us move on, but he still has that look in his eyes that keeps me from lying to him, and eventually frustration breaks through my misery.

"Why do you even care? This doesn't concern you, and it's nothing you could change, or anyone else for that matter."

He looks slightly offended at my rebuke but apparently it isn't enough, because he still doesn't let go.

"Don't you even want to know what I meant when I said that she is right?"

I've somehow been trying to forget that he even said that, but as he brings it up again, I can hardly ignore it.

"Fine, please, enlighten me."

I know that it's never a good idea to snap at a man, and even less so a client, but he hardly leaves me any choice. Suffice it to say, he's not happy at my tone, but apparently it does the trick because he stops looking so damn compassionate.

"You know what, you're probably right, it doesn't matter."

He makes as if to storm off, but stops right in front of me, probably remembering that this is his room and he has every reason to throw me out now. I still hold his gaze levelly, trying hard not to let his anger affect me, but really, it helps me find my inner calm again. I probably look a tad defiant, too, because something changes in his posture when he leans towards me, propping himself up against the wall right behind me, his posture becoming a little intimidating.

"Why do you have to be so fucking infuriating?" he growls, and just like that the spell of heaviness is broken between us, leaving only tension aplenty to resolve.

"Because that's how I am," I quip back while I smile alluringly up at him. "Maybe I deserve to be taught a lesson?"

"I doubt that anything I could do to you would turn you into a meek, nice girl."

"You wouldn't want me if I was meek. But maybe bending me over something and fucking me thoroughly will make you feel good about that?"

"What an excellent idea."

There's no further buildup to what follows next, just tension that needs an outlet. Before I can even blink, his lips are on mine, his entire body pushing me against the wall, and I give into his kiss eagerly. I try to get my hands inside his jacket and underneath his shirt, but he quickly captures them, then pins them to the wall above my head. I eagerly moan against his lips as he stabs his tongue into my mouth, forceful, needing to take for once.

When we break apart briefly to catch our breaths he leers down at me, then tightens his hold around my wrists and pulls me away from the wall, only to march me across the room so he can press me against the window, my back now facing him. I try to turn around but he switches his grip until each of his hands is wrapped around my wrists, holding them firmly against the cool glass.

"Don't fucking move," comes his gritty command next to my ear, making me shiver and stop my useless fight.

I remain standing like that while he quickly divests me of my clothes, leaving me completely naked while the only thing he does is open the fly of his pants to pull his cock out. The sound of a condom wrapper ripping, then he thrusts into me, making me cry out with need as my body gets pressed more firmly into the window pane.

His motions are frantic as he grabs my hips, and I arch my back and eagerly meet his every thrust. Within minutes there's only the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, underscored by heavy panting, and before I know it my world implodes in a release that is as much psychological as it is physical.

Edward comes shortly after me, then leans his forehead against my shoulder, his heavy breath loud in my ear and painting goose pumps up and down my spine. I remain standing where I am even when he pulls out of me, too caught in the moment to move yet, and entirely unwilling to.

A hand worming its way across my stomach distracts me momentarily, and Edward manages to grab me that way and turn me around until I'm looking at him, the glass now warm against my shoulder blades. I grin up at him, then eagerly open my lips when he leans in to kiss me. There's still heat and need in that kiss even though the worst of the drive to let it all out has dissipated, and he chuckles darkly when he pulls away again, yet his arm stays around my lower back where it has settled.

"Did we just have our first fight followed by incredible make-up sex? Because if that's the case, I'm afraid I will have to provoke your anger more often from now on. That was just amazing."

I agree with him as I keep on smiling, then look from his eyes down to his shirt. There's no sense in him keeping it on now that it's soaked with sweat, and I really, really need to feel his skin pressed against mine now.

"Bella, I need to tell you something," he goes on, and I briefly look at his face before continuing on the buttons.

"I'm all ears, and quite frankly don't think my legs would support me right now if I tried to run away."

He laughs softly but then catches my fingers, keeping me from finishing my task.

"Please, just listen to me?"

"Oh, I am listening, I can do that while I undress you. I'm a woman, remember? I can multitask."

"I am very aware of your femaleness right now," he laughs, but still doesn't let go. "You're distracting me, though, and my mind is frozen in a one track way right now."

"Too bad, really," I tease, then pull my fingers from his loose grasp and undo the last button, and after spreading his shirt open at his chest, I continue by pulling down his pants properly. He accepts defeat and lets me work, but when I try to capture his cock with my mouth for a seamless transition to a probable round two, he steps away and pulls me to my feet until I again end up leaning against the window next to him.

"Okay, what is so important that you need to tell me before I go down on my knees and worship your cock at length?"

He narrows his eyes and leans in for a quick kiss, but again doesn't let me deepen it.

"Now you're just teasing me!" I accuse.

"And rightly so, you insatiable vixen!" he laughs, but then sobers up until all that remains on his face is a smile – and, in fact, he seems slightly nervous.

"Edward? What's going on?"

There's a flutter in my stomach now that has nothing to do with ecstasy or getting fucked against a window, and it only gets worse when he licks his lips once before he replies.

"There's something I need to tell you," he repeats. "I wasn't sure how to say this yesterday when you were going on about Rose and her games, but I can't keep this from you anymore. She's right, at least in one thing. Bella, I think I'm in love with you."

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><p><strong>I'd love to know what you think!<strong>

**I will be on a festival from Friday – Tuesday, and I'm not sure I will be able to update on both or either of those days. Rest assured that I will try to get the next chapter to you as soon as possible!**


	11. Chapter 11

**My heartfelt thanks go to Cullen Confection, prassacut and chrissy1201 for their help and support. **

**Chapter 10 got over 200 reviews – that both caught me completely by surprise and still has me grinning stupidly – thank you all so much! Sadly, FFn is fail again and I cannot reply to a single one of them!**

**For now I've enable anonymous reviews; no idea if that helps with the site acting up. Either way I hope won't end in cowardly flames again. I think you can still write PMs, I'll try to reply to them if you have any questions!**

**The festival last weekend was simply mindblowing, but since then I've been sick, so I hope you'll excuse me when I crawl right back into my warm, cozy bed right now! Hope you have a great weekend, and enjoy the chapter!**

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><p>I stare at him, wide eyed, because for several seconds there is nothing else I am capable of. My mind has ground to a halt, while my heart is thudding in my chest and blood is rushing in my ears, but it's as if time has altogether stopped.<p>

This can't be happening.

Not now, not ever.

I know that my reaction is not what he wants to see. Part of my mind, that part that is trained to anticipate what a client wants of me and jumps to the task of providing just that, is yelling at me to un-freeze and smile and kiss him – but I know that this is not the time to break my not-faking-it mantra. So I continue to stare at him, while he looks back at me, waiting.

At first, he seems genuinely relieved that he finally got to speak his mind – if that is what this is, the nasty small voice in the back of my head unhelpfully supplies. For once, she sounds suspiciously like Rose. But as our staring match goes on, I can see tension rise in him, first in his shoulders, then on and on until his forehead is displaying a hint of a frown. He starts to look worried while he still tries to hang on to his smile, and it is then that I do the only thing I can do – I bolt.

"I- I'm sorry, I really need to- I have to-," I mumble, then avert my eyes and push myself away from him and the window, and run towards the bathroom. I'm too upset right now to close the door, and I'm thankfully not running towards the toilet to hurl, but I am aware that I'm only making things worse.

Panting heavily, I switch on the water in the sink, splashing some on my face and chest until I feel I can breathe again. When I lean onto the marble counter and look at myself in the mirror, I almost laugh at my reflection, but not in a good way.

"You know, I didn't really expect you to hug and kiss me and tell me that you feel the same way, but your reaction is not quite what any man wants to see when he pours his heart out."

While Edward's words, coming from the doorway, make me wince, his playful tone eases me somewhat, at least enough so that I can stop myself from hyperventilating, or bashing my head against the counter repeatedly.

"I'm really screwing this up right now, aren't I?"

He laughs softly, then saunters over to me, wrapping his arms around my body from behind, while he props his chin up on my left shoulder. Our eyes meet in the mirror until he turns his head to kiss my shoulder softly.

"Just don't laugh at me, okay? I don't think my ego could take that right now."

I nod, trying to chuckle but the sound only comes out strangled, almost making me choke on it.

"Okay. I can do that."

We remain standing like that for at least a minute, before he gently pulls me away from the sink. I follow him docilely enough as he leads me over to the bed, where we settle under the covers, face to face. He's trying to retain a neutral expression while I can't stop frowning, although more at myself than him.

"You're really serious, aren't you?" I finally break the silence.

"I am," he agrees, but says nothing more, lending the simple words all the more weight this way.

"You can't be serious. You can't love me."

He thankfully doesn't act like a thirteen year old girl and insists that there's a difference between being 'in love' and 'loving' someone, but I can tell that my denial doesn't sit well with him.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a -"

He silences me with a finger across my lips.

"Bella, I'm not stupid, and I'm not some naïve high school boy with a crush. I know what you do for a living, and I don't care. I'm not falling for you, hard, because you know things and aren't afraid to do what most women wouldn't even dream about, but because you're a wonderful person. I've never met anyone quite like you. I've dated and fucked enough women to know what purely physical attraction means, and what I feel for you exceeds that by leagues."

I don't know why exactly, but his words make me cry, and not just some lady-like sniffles, but the entire sobbing and snot-hiccuping included. I'm happy when my field of vision is swimming too much to still be able to see the pain in his eyes, but I'm glad when he simply pulls me against his chest and holds me until I eventually fall silent again. The way his hands slowly stroke up and down my spine is incredibly soothing, and for a while, I just want to lay there and never again do anything else in my entire life.

"Please tell me why you're crying? It can't be that bad to be told something like that, right? And I really don't expect anything of you. Not even an answer or acknowledgement, if you don't want to give either. I just can't see you so sad."

I close my eyes for a little longer, listening to the rhythm of his heart, but eventually force myself to pull back enough so that I can look at his face.

"This is impossible. You cannot love me, and I cannot love you!"

A hint of a smile appears on his face, and he shifts slightly.

"But you do?" he ventures a, probably not exactly hard, guess.

I don't reply at first but keep staring into his eyes, willing him to understand and see reason somehow.

"I cannot have feelings for a client. I cannot be something special to him. It only works if it all stays on an entirely sexual level, don't you see? I cannot get emotionally involved with you, and neither can you with me. It never works and it always ends in pain. My pain. Because eventually, you will realize that I'm just one of many, nothing special, and you will move on. If I'm stupid enough to let that mean anything to me, it will kill me, eventually. I can't let that happen."

"What if I won't move on? I know the difference between a simple infatuation and what I feel for you. I will never stop wanting you, not until the end of my life."

I force myself to snort derisively, even if it feels like I'm cutting my own heart out.

"It's easy to say that now. And you've just known me for a little more than a month. How can you feel so deeply about me already?"

A stupid question that I could just ask myself, seeing as everything I accuse him of is equally true for myself, even if I've spent weeks trying so very hard to deny it, or not even think about it. We're both fools in this, but somehow I can't manage to see that as a bad thing.

"I have no idea, but the fact that I do tells me that nothing you can say will change anything about it. Just because you don't want it to be true, doesn't make it so."

"Who says I don't want it to be true?" I snort, then screw my eyes shut in frustration. If he can't be the sane one, I should be, but I seem to be utterly incapable of making any sense right now myself.

"Bella, please, look at me?"

I try to keep my eyes closed but when I feel him lean in and brush his lips tentatively against mine, I can't resist kissing him back, and eventually looking at him, too. I really must be trying his patience but unlike any other man I've ever had a conversation like this with before, he isn't getting tired of it yet, and all I see is determination in his eyes.

"This is because of something she said to you on the phone, isn't it? That's why you got in my face, to distract me, to defuse the moment and let sex take care of resolving whatever got under your skin. I'd normally not dispute the method, and some conversations can definitely improve with a little carnal intermission, but you didn't really think you'd get away with it?"

I look back at him until I have to blink, then focus on his chin instead of his eyes. They make me want to spill all my secrets, and right now, I don't think that's a good idea.

"You are too observant for your own good."

"People keep telling me that, but somehow I always prove them wrong."

Now I have to look up to see just how much he is joking, and of course, I get dragged in by his gaze.

"But she was right. There can't be any strong feelings between a whore and her client. It never works!"

"And what about strong feelings just between a man and a woman? Or do you discriminate against me just because I pay for sex?"

The notion is utterly ridiculous, and I don't hesitate to tell him that. Edward just laughs.

"Well, if you say it doesn't matter, then why does it matter that you sell sex? We're both guilty of taking part of that sin, so what, but we are aware of that, and I think it does neither of us justice if we reduce what we have to a simple business agreement. Just think about the problems we've had so far, they all came up exactly because there's more to us than only that. And people around us see that, even if you want to deny it. Carlisle wouldn't just have tried to take his frustration out on a random whore, and Rose wouldn't try to keep you from what must be a most lucrative business opportunity. If you were just a whore to me, why didn't I even consider for a moment to take that girl's offer to replace you? And you wouldn't be so heartbroken about all this if it didn't mean anything to you, you'd just laugh it off and call me a fool, then consider that matter discussed and move on."

He's right, of course, and anything I could bring up to try to nullify his arguments would in the end just strengthen them.

I take a deep breath, then let it slip out of me again, wishing that my mind could just quiet down as easily as my body does.

Then the solution hits me, and as such things always go, it's really a simple one.

"All of that doesn't really matter if you're no longer my client."

For a moment he looks concerned, and in a way it warms my heart to see how much what he must think is rejection bothers him, but then a devious look comes onto his face.

"What exactly are you implying?"

Now that the heaviness on my chest is lifting, I cannot explain fast enough.

"It's not really common, but women in my profession do have families, sometimes. Any say Rose has in my life is about business, not my private life. She can't tell me not to see you anymore when you're not my client, but my boyfriend."

Just calling him that is a silly notion – a 'boyfriend' is some awkward guy who sticks his tongue down your throat in the back of his mother's car at Homecoming, not someone of Edward's caliber - but I can see from his wry smile that he likes the idea.

"Oh my, now this is moving along fast, I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet," he offers, making me laugh in return.

"After all that 'love you until the end of my life' confession? Really? Maybe this is a bad idea after all then."

He's suddenly above me, leering down, his face inches away from mine.

"Don't you dare take that back now, the idea is already growing on me."

"Looks like the idea isn't the only thing growing," I huff back as I wrap my hand around his cock, finding him hard and ready. We stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds, then he turns his head and looks towards the nightstand, but before he can shift his weight and angle for the box of condoms, I hitch one leg up and onto his back, in the same move bringing his cock to my pussy so that all it takes for him to enter me is a light rocking of his hips. His eyes snap back to mine and I see how much it costs him to hold back now, and I almost wish he simply wouldn't.

"Shouldn't we use protection?"

"I'm clean, my last STD test came back two days ago, and I only fuck without a condom if the client shows up with perfect test results himself. So unless you are hiding some skeletons in your closet that I should be aware of, there's no reason to stick to this. I'm on birth control, too, so don't fret about that."

He cocks his head to the side, then leans in to steal a kiss, while his hips still stay motionless.

"Skeletons, yes, but not of that kind."

Before I can ask what exactly he means with that, he thrusts into me, stifling my resulting moan with his tongue snaking into my mouth. For some reason or other, this right now feels so very different from what I'm used to – even with Edward.

It's slow and sensual, and he's just so damn close, but at the same time not close enough. I bring one of my hands up to the side of his neck, the other on his lower back, letting me feel his every motion with so much more than just my lower body. We keep looking deeply into each other's eyes, every so often stopping to move entirely to get lost in kissing, only to resume again with low, delicious moans escaping us both.

It has been less than half an hour since we fucked against the window, making us both easily responsive, but at the same time armed with enough restraint to draw this wonderful moment out as long as it needs to be. We laugh and kiss and moan and pant, smiling all the time as we lose ourselves in each other. When I finally come, it's not a mind-blowing, earth shattering orgasm, but more like an incredibly intense extension and conclusion to it all. He keeps on a while longer until eventually he climaxes, too, and we end up holding on to each other and feeling so close that it's hard to say where I end and he begins.

We don't talk for a long time, because we don't need words right now, just smiles and more kisses. I feel like I'm floating, walking on clouds and all that shit, but right then it doesn't seem ridiculous or mushy to me, but just is as it should be.

Eventually, we do make it out of the bedroom and into the shower, only to go at it again in there, this time with a little more vigor and a lot more laughing. It's a testament to the first class plumbing that we don't run out of water until we're both thoroughly satisfied – yet again – and while I feel like a little rest and sleep might be in order now, we decide to forgo that lest we don't make it out of the room at all this afternoon.

We end up walking through the park, holding hands, then after a great dinner, we hit Broadway to catch a show. It's without a doubt the best evening of my life, but I know it would have been just as great with abysmal food and the worst actors ever. There is nothing in the world that can kill my buzz right now, and every time he smiles at me that feeling of joy inside of me just keeps growing.

That night, after another long and languid tumble between the sheets, I finally manage to tell him that I return his feelings, and his answering smile is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

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><p><strong>See you on Tuesday! For FFn, I've enabled the anonymous review option.<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!**

**If for whatever reason any of the sites doesn't send out alerts, I usually post all the links of my updates on my blog: dariachenowith (dot) blogspot (dot) com. You can also find me on facebook (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**


	12. Chapter 12

**My heartfelt thanks go to Cullen Confection, prassacut and chrissy1201 for their help and support.**

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><p>Waiting in front of Rose's door for her to let me in, I hope that this is not going to turn into a regular thing. I really don't mind meeting with her, but coming to her home two times in just under a week is not my definition of a good time. Although, I do hope that this visit will go down a little more friendly than the last. Considering the recent changes in my relationship status, I have my doubts.<p>

When she finally opens the door, she is all open smiles and compassion, which dims almost immediately when she realizes that I'm not the sniffling wreck she probably expected. Her eyes take in my moss colored shirtdress and black leather purse, then return to my light, but clearly not smudged, makeup.

"So I see you're ignoring my good advice," she says for a greeting, then steps aside to let me in. I follow her, this time not into her living room, but the breakfast bar in the kitchen. I actually love her kitchen, it's open and flooded with light almost the entire day, and about the only homey part of her apartment.

"It's nice to see you, too," I offer as I sit down on one of the bar stools, crossing my legs as not to appear too un-lady-like. Rose stops in mid-motion from where she's getting a bottle of water from the fridge, but then resumes in silence until there's a glass of water in front of and a somewhat angry madam sitting beside me.

"Has he already told you to give up working, or are we still at the 'but it pains me to think that other guys get to stick their filthy dicks into you' stage?"

"Neither, actually," I quip, then sip my water while I regard her levelly.

"You didn't talk about it yet? Oh, girl, this can only end badly."

Her pessimism is still getting on my nerves, but she's reacting way more composed than I have expected.

"It pains me to disappoint you, but we actually did discuss the topic, when we got home from NYC yesterday evening."

"Pray tell how that went," she snarks, but looks curious. I exhale slowly, doing my best not to appear like the petulant child she must be seeing in me, then launch into my recount.

"Of course he's not thrilled that I'm continuing to work, but when I asked him if it was a dealbreaker for him, he told me that he never wanted to infringe on my choice or personal freedom. He loves me for the free spirit I am, and doesn't believe he has any right to tell me what to do."

"And you believe that?" she scoffs, her usual barbs showing through the cracks in her niceness already.

"I believe that he is trying to let me do what I want, because he is fully aware of the fact that being a controlling asshole is a huge turn-off, not a romantic gesture."

The last part earns me a toothy yet genuine smile, and as it seems, the former some respect.

"What are you going to do now, then, with that well defended freedom of yours?"

I'm surprised at the slightly cautious tone of her voice. Then again, it is a rare occasion that I'm the one barking in her face, not the other way around.

"I'm not going to stop working now just to prove to him what a kind soul I am. In fact, I don't intend to stop working, period. What I might do is get a little more picky with assignments, seeing as I simply don't have to spread my legs for every freak with money who comes along. No random 'sex only' assignments anymore."

Rose frowns for a moment, then her face turns pensive.

"So you're too good to just fuck now, but spending an entire evening with some guy and being his charming companion is okay? Why does this seem a bit twisted to me?"

I have to admit, I mostly brought that point up just to see how she would react, and her argument makes me realize how little I've expected her to accept it. The temptation to see how much of a compromise I could get out of this is strong, but I'm happy to take her being uncommonly agreeable as a sign of good faith instead.

"For new clients. I'm happy to keep fucking my regulars."

After a moment's hesitation she nods, then gets up to fetch a blue folder from a shelf. When she puts it down next to me and opens it, I see that it contains what looks like the files of all of my clients, present and former, all neatly stored away in single sheet protectors. At my questioning look, she shrugs, readying a pen and some sticky notes.

"Humor me. For the apparently unlikely case that you do decide to bail on me, I want to be prepared. Let's go through them so you can give me the specific details the girl taking over should know."

I really don't like her condescending tone but suck it up, seeing as it would just make things worse if I act hostile now. Pulling the file closer so that I can get a better look at the descriptions, and in some cases photos, I start rattling off whatever comes to my mind.

"Garrett's fun, he's definitely rocking that whole 'girlfriend experience' thing. Like pic-nic in the park, hiking, everyday stuff. That rafting weekend with him was fun."

Turning a page, I have to grin at the next client's file.

"Oh, Rodney is a true lingerie enthusiast. He once took me underwear shopping, I think I modeled everything they had in my size in that store. But he's not creepy about it, and he doesn't snag panties or something like that. I asked him once if he wanted to keep my used underwear and he almost seemed offended. No push-up bra for him, he doesn't like surprises, as he phrased it."

A few unremarkable clients follow where I don't really have much to say to. When I turn the page there's Barry's file there, my name at the top struck through with black sharpie, and replaced by another girl's. I briefly glance at Rose but she just gives me innocent, wide eyes, so I wordlessly turn the page and continue.

"Peter doesn't like his girls fake, not even botox. Alex likes to watch, two girls preferably, but he's not picky about how they look or what they do. Brian likes them in twos, too, but don't bother sending him anyone who's not into some lesbian fun, he kicked both Tamara and Jane out when you assigned them with me, remember? Although he was a good sport about it, and never asked for a refund."

It is then that something occurs to me, and instead of turning the page, I look more intently at Rose, trying to gauge her reaction to my words as well as I can.

"This isn't about you needing some extra advice from me about my clients, you know all this and more. You're just making me go through them so I remember all the fun I had and realize that I don't want to give all that up for just one guy!"

The fact that she doesn't even bat an eyelash tells me that I'm spot on, but contrary to her, I'm not able to hide my frustration.

"Why do you have to be such a bitch? I'm pretty sure that in all the years I've been working for you I've never cheated you for a single cent, I have rarely lied to you and never when it was about something important, and you could always count on me for whatever you needed. Why can't you show me the same courtesy and at least be honest with me?"

Rose regards me levelly, then turns away in obvious dismissal to get herself something stronger than her glass of water. I have to quell the impulse to simply leave, maybe even for good this time.

"You want honesty? I can give you that," she grumbles, then turns to me with a bright, yet fatal smile on her face. "Don't be such a stupid, romantic fool and fuck up your life with this shit."

I didn't expect the scorn dripping from her voice, and even if I had tried to remain calm, her attitude all but makes it impossible for me now.

"You don't get to tell me what or who I do in my private life! Sheesh, can't you even be happy for me for a moment? Are you that jealous that maybe I could have hit the jackpot here and really found a guy who genuinely loves me for who I am? I thought we were friends!"

She scoffs and remains leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen.

"I'm not your friend, Bella, I'm your madam."

"Well, screw you!" I huff, about as immature as I can get, and feel quite stupid at the same time. Rose doesn't make it easy on me by smiling diligently instead of getting in my face.

"You don't want me to be your friend, that's why I've never even tried to be one."

"Says who?"

Now she does roll her eyes at me, then takes a sip from her glass and points with it at me while she swallows.

"You. Maybe not verbally, but your demeanor. Let's face it, there's a reason why you haven't quit years ago and gone freelance, you have both the body, style, class and education for it. And don't give me the shit about it being a hassle, doing all the checkups by yourself. You need someone to make the decisions about your clients for you, because that is how you work."

"That's not true," I try to deflect the underlying accusation in her words, but she cuts me off with a snort.

"So much for honesty, eh? Do you really want those assignments that afterwards make you feel like shit to come from a friend? Do you want a friend apologizing to you for sending you on that? Do you want a friend to cry with you when you end up banged up in the hospital when something goes really wrong? Or do you want a madam who knows exactly what you're going through because she's been there plenty of times herself, who knows that sometimes you have to take the bad with the good, and that the last thing you want to see is pity when you need a strong arm to hold on to to pull yourself back together? I know why you're still a working girl even though by now you must have made more dough than most people in their entire lives. You simply love being the object of desire of all these rich, powerful men, you love being the woman they want. Don't risk all that for a stupid infatuation. You don't even know if you can do without all that attention and admiration that no single man can ever give you."

While I want to keep pouting, her passionate appeal stops me cold, both because she's right, and because I feel like there's a lot more behind this.

"You're talking from experience, aren't you?"

Rose takes another sip – or more accurately, a gulp – before she looks at me intently, her gaze challenging. When I don't back down, she inclines her head and puts down the almost empty glass.

"I don't normally go around telling the story, but as you're all about getting so chummy today, why not? But I don't want to bore you with my attempt at making you see reason."

"Of course not," I quip back, but then moderate my tone to something a little less bitchy. "But now I'm curious, so if you want to tell me, please, go ahead."

The almost longing way she looks at her glass makes me uneasy, for while I've seldom seen her pass up a drink, I've never seen her need one. Instead of getting a refill she glances over at me, though, then crosses her arms over her chest almost defiantly.

"I don't mind telling you this, but I would appreciate it if you didn't share it with the other girls."

That coming from the woman who even now manages to scandalize me sometimes with her utter lack of self-consciousness when it comes to mishaps on the job, or the best thereof. I nod, then make a zipping motion with my fingers over my lips. She offers me a small smile, then launches right into her tale.

"I was a little older than you, 31, and truly wise beyond my years. By then I knew being a whore was everything I ever wanted to be, I never hungered for a husband or kids like some of the girls do. His name was Royce, and I met him on a social function I attended with another client. He found out pretty fast that I was an escort, and had no qualms contacting me afterwards. He was strikingly handsome, good manners, well bred. Youngest son of a wealthy family, he was well provided for and could easily afford my services. He loved to travel, loved to scandalize his mother by bringing me to family dinners, it was perfect."

The smile on her face is sad but real, and makes me wonder what went so wrong that this cautionary tale still has her react like this.

"Eventually, his family put pressure on him because they wanted another heir to make sure there were enough of them to assure that the next generation would continue to weave their social web further and further around the world. He balked at the arranged marriage they offered him, and instead proposed to me, the same day that he professed his undying, everlasting love."

Now her smile is bitter, and when she looks me in the eyes her gaze is almost unreadable.

"I wanted this to be true, so much. I wanted to be loved. I think I even loved him, although I tried to deny it. But he was persistent, and when he kept asking for my hand, I eventually gave in. Suffice it to say, his family wasn't pleased. They cut him off from his fortune except for a small stipend, but by then we had succumbed to that madness love really is. After all, I had savings, too, and we knew we could make it work. He asked me to stop whoring around, so of course I did, and took on a job as a temp in a law office instead."

She stops there, looking at nothing in particular, and I can see that going on is getting harder for her. I almost offer that she doesn't have to tell me, but she wards me off with a gesture before I can even open my mouth.

"You know that I come from a respected family myself, but I had learned to make do with less money. He never did. Within weeks the first bills couldn't be paid anymore by what money we actually had freely available, and after half a year most of my savings were gone. I suggested to him that he could try to make amends with his family, but he refused. I offered to go back to working as an escort, but that wasn't an option for him, either. Another month I spent filing and making coffee for the kind of men who had previously taken me onto expensive vacations and kissed the ground underneath my feet just to get a smile from me. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore and called one of my former clients, just to stop feeling so utterly worthless."

While her voice is still dry, her smile is almost happy, but only until she goes on.

"I couldn't stand to keep working in the office after that, so I went freelance for a while. Strictly during the day, and I told Royce nothing about it. But I got careless with checking up on client's backgrounds, and accidentally accepted one of his friends into my short list of regulars. I guess I don't have to tell you how the conversation went that we had the night after said friend told him about our arrangement."

Rose doesn't continue even when I nod, so I say what I think is the most likely outcome of it.

"Did he hit you?"

Her face remains set in a mask of stone, but she shakes her head.

"He called me names aplenty, but he never laid hands on me. It still hurt like hell, failing his expectations, his trust, feeling so unworthy of his love. But that's not even the best part of it. The week after that, I found out that I was pregnant."

"Shit."

She nods.

"I know it was Royce's, without a doubt. We hadn't planned on it, but had foregone using condoms, and with all the stress of hiding what I was doing from him, I had forgotten that the antibiotics I had to take to get rid of a cold might render the pill useless. Of course I was a little apprehensive at first, but then it seemed like an omen to me, a turning point in my life. I would stay at home, a loving mother and wife, to raise his child and leave my glamorous life as an escort behind. It was the heir his siblings had failed to produce, and I knew that the kind of money his family had would make all the smudges on my record go away. If only they had wanted to."

Those last words are really all I need to hear to get an accurate picture of what went down, but as usual, she's not afraid to elaborate.

"They didn't even dispute that it was his child. It only took a ten minute talk behind closed doors for Royce to realize that this was a turning point for him as well, only that he came to the conclusion that he didn't want to have a whore's child. He told me in no uncertain terms that he never wanted to see me again, and he wouldn't pay a cent for the child, also. His mother went as far as offering to pay for the abortion, in the letter she sent with the official papers stating the annulment of our marriage. To say I was devastated is an understatement, I think the only reason I didn't just kill myself on the spot was because I didn't have a gun in the house and I was too afraid that I wouldn't succeed with pills and just hurt the baby. I know, not too rational, but that's how I was. In the end, I did the only thing left to me."

This time I hold my tongue instead of stating the obvious, and I'm glad when it turns out that once in her life she wasn't as much of a cold-hearted a bitch as I always accuse her of being.

"I went to a women's shelter for help, and they set me up with a room in one of their houses, until I had the baby and gave her up for adoption. I cried the entire ten hours I spent in the delivery room, holding the hand of the only woman who would still be there for me, even after I'd yelled at her a year before that she was a jealous, bitter, old hag for telling me I shouldn't be so stupid and stop doing the only thing I'm really good at. God, Anita was a real bitch as a madam, but she neither judged me nor laughed at me then, and even let me stay in her home for a couple of weeks afterwards because she was afraid I'd go ahead and try to kill myself once the baby was safe. And when I was ready she didn't question my resolve or sanity when I told her that I wanted to start working again. She simply handed me her Rolodex and told me to have some fun."

Only now does she get a refill, and when she turns back to me, Rose is almost her usual, flippant self again.

"Now, why did I tell you that? Oh, right, there's a take away message in there."

I just return her stare, waiting for her to rub it in. When she goes on, she surprises me once more.

"Through all of this there was a single man who I always felt appreciated me for who I was, and didn't give a shit about what I did for a job. He was the last client I saw before I stopped working, he was the first one I called when I couldn't stomach being a soulless worker bee any more, and he was the first again after I had my child. When he learned that I was pregnant, he offered to keep paying for my services even if I was too much of a whale and could at best offer him a handjob, and he only teased me a bit when I was somewhat self-conscious the first time we had sex again after I gave birth. He is the only client I still see, and he got me a snazzy little Porsche for our 15th anniversary a few months ago. His wife is in the know and tolerates my existence as his mistress, and I coordinate any social functions I attend with her so that she doesn't have to run into me. That is exactly the kind of arrangement you should aim for if you really have a thing for that _boyfriend_ of yours. Because you will never be his wife, you will never be the mother of his children, but you can still be the most important woman in his life without either of you having to give up your freedom."

I didn't expected that revelation. Of course, I've speculated time and again if she still keeps seeing any of her old clients, but never would I have believed anything like this if she hadn't told me so herself. Her words make me wonder for a moment whether this could be something to consider, but the conclusion I come to is a quick no. I could live with an arrangement like this, but I already know Edward enough to realize he'd never go for it.

Rose watches me for several moments while I consider her words, then speaks up again.

"Even if you want to deny it, you are like me. You love being an escort, you love being the woman they want. It's not about the money, it's about the attention, the glamour, the lifestyle. I thought I wanted a family and child, be a homemaker to a trust fund baby like Royce, but even if things had worked out, eventually I would have missed my old life so much that it would have sullied what I naively thought was better. I knew that even before I found out that I was with child, I was just too much of a coward to admit it. Nothing in this world ever made me feel so alive, so wanted and appreciated. I know you probably don't believe me right now, but remember my words and think hard about how you feel about what you do, and what you give up if you stop. I know that relationships are about compromise, but no relationship can survive blind self-sacrifice."

I nod, her words making me slightly uneasy.

"Nothing I said will change your mind, I know," she uncannily observes, her smile rueful. "But now, at least you can't fault me for not trying."

"Thank you for your advice, but -"

"Say no more, I know it all. He is different, _you_ are different, that's never going to happen to you, and all that shit. But keep in mind, your life is no fairy tale, at least not one of those that end with 'and they lived happily ever after.'"

I nod, but that's all the reaction I'm willing to give her. She turns away from me then, her usual dismissal, and nods towards the folder with my client files.

"So you wanna stick to your usual schedule?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I'll call you a week ahead if I can't make it."

She inclines her head.

"I guess weekends are still off, seeing as boyfriend dearest will want to keep you to himself there?"

"You guess right. Anything else?"

She shakes her head.

"Not from my side."

"Okay. I'll leave then. Thanks for the water, and well, your advice."

"You're welcome," she chimes sweetly, then accompanies me to the door. We hug, and for some reason the gesture feels warmer than it usually does. Yet when I look at her face, she's back to being my madam, not my friend, so I turn around and go without saying another word.

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><p><strong>I'd love to know what you think! <strong>**I hope you enjoyed the update, it was the last of my backlog chapters, from now on I'm on a write & update schedule. **

**If you're on facebook, you can find me there!**** (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**

**Starting this Thursday, I'm on vacation for 10 days. I don't have internet connection where we go, but if I manage to get any new chapters written in time I will try to abuse my phone to send them to my beta and update. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Surprise!**

**I'm having a really abysmally patchy connection (abusing my phone as make-shift modem for my laptop, and reception isn't good to start with), so this update is brought to you with hours spent staring at progress bars not moving.**

**The update wouldn't have been possible without Cullen Confection, who went through it at a time of day no beta should ever have to go through a 7k chapter, and my trustworthy cheerleaders, prassacut and chrissy1201, who never tire to brainstorm with me even if we've talked about a chapter two times already! And of course drop everything when the gdoc notification sails into their inbox.**

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><p>Rose's words continue to haunt me throughout the week.<p>

For obvious reasons, I feel bad for her. Even with the entire 'we're not friends' talk, I know that deep down I do consider her a confidante, and I hope she thinks the same way about me. I've known her for so many years and never considered that some of her street-smart comments actually hail from real life experience. No one should have had to deal with something like this.

Still, I know deep in my heart that things are different with Edward and me, and not just because I'm turning into a giggling, star struck girl whenever he sends me a text message, which he does a few times a day when he doesn't call, or I don't call him back. Whenever I read them, or actually talk to him on the phone, I just know that what we have is real, honest, not tainted by any lies or deception.

When I started working as an escort I knew that I'd always have to carry that part with me, and that very likely most men wouldn't be able to accept it, even if it was a thing of the past. But I got lucky, I met a man who is so centered in life that he can easily accept the fact that his woman isn't a naïve, pure little virgin. Even the thought of Edward having to put up with the kind of awkwardness such a girl would be wrapped in, is hilarious. I know that when he says he loves me that he loves _all_ of me.

And still, the first evening I spend alone after our weekend together, just after coming home from seeing one of my clients, I can't fall asleep. It takes me a while of tossing and turning to understand why – things are changing for me.

Sex has never been something I've been ashamed about, once I actually started having it. Sure, the first couple of clients left me feeling weird, but as I learned to shirk the manacles of society, I soon became comfortable, and eventually even built my confidence based on what I was turning into. Rose herself said it so perfectly – being desired by rich, powerful men is a kick unlike any other. And I really like being all those women they see me as, always bringing parts of myself into it, but never fully revealing myself.

That is, until I met Edward. Edward, who showed some restraint when he could have just fucked me on the library table; Edward, who could talk me into coming over and cooking for him when I've never done anything like that for anyone, least of all a client. Edward, who made me doubt everything about myself and at the same time love the woman I am.

Now for the first time ever, I'm asking myself, am I cheating on him when I have sex with other men? And am I cheating on them when I'm with him?

During the day those thoughts are ridiculous, but alone in the dark they won't leave me be. I know that he doesn't ask me about what I do with my clients because he respects my privacy; I'm also sure he doesn't really want to know. But it comes down to him being aware of what is going on, down to where he even jokes a little about it on the phone. He also knows that I have no problems with disassociating sex from love.

I know he's not jealous, at least not in the sense of feeling like I'm giving them a part of myself that I keep from him. I also know that the main reason why I even feel weird is that part of my brain is still giving Rose too much credibility. Between all the heavy info dumping she did, it is the offhand remarks that still worm their way into my mind. She knows me, she's older and more experienced than me, maybe there's something to what she's saying after all? I hate that the talk with her has left me so insecure, and I hope that when I see Edward again, things will change.

Sadly, just because our relationship is changing, that doesn't mean that our schedule is, too. Until now, it's been all exciting weekends either spent in bed or away from home, a well needed respite from the daily grind for him. Now, it turns out that work keeps seeping into our time together quickly, with video conferences interfering with our phone calls, and he has to work late every day so that it will be Saturday afternoon when he has time for me again.

Even though some girlish part of me is counting the hours until then, I won't let it drive me insane, and in the meantime concentrate on my life – and my clients. Rose seems to have taken our talk seriously because I don't get any new requests forwarded from her, leaving me to the comfortable schedule I'm used to for the days until the weekend.

Thursday morning is reserved for a very special client – Zack. In his early forties, fit and healthy, he has been one of my favorite clients ever since one of the other girls had to drop him due to schedule complications a couple of years ago. Zack loves sex, and that is all he wants from me. No fancy dresses, no coy behavior or endless conversations – when we meet, it is to fuck, and girl, that man has moves, and the large, thick cock to exercise them to precision.

We don't meet regularly but when we do, it's always at the same time at the same hotel. From what little we talk sometimes between rounds of sex, I know that he's married and has three kids. No idea if his wife is in on what he does with me, but I always get the sense from him that he really needs to get laid, and better with me than a woman who might think she could get between him and his family. I leave the guilt and reasoning to him, and just enjoy the ride myself.

I'm a little early as I slide the key card into the door, but once inside the stylish room I hear the sound of the shower greeting me. At my amicable, "Hello!" I get a grunt back, and two minutes later, he pads out of the bathroom, a fluffy, white towel slung around his hips, droplets of water still in his short, brown hair. He smiles brightly as he pulls me close, but not close enough to get water onto my dress, then kisses me softly before retreating towards the bed. Money is exchanged, and once he's sprawled out over the covers, his half-hard cock peeking out from underneath the towel, I quickly undress in a slightly teasing way, laughing myself when I get some cat calls for flashing my boobs.

I join him on the bed, a condom between my teeth as I straddle him. Leering down at him, I wrap my hand around his cock, feeling him grow harder with each of my motions. Once he's almost at full length, I carefully tear open the condom wrapper, then roll the rubber down where it belongs. A little shimmying around and I sink down on his cock, sighing contently while he grins up at me. We start off slow, mostly to give me some time to get used to his size, but soon he's gripping my hips and urging me on to speed up my motions. Before long we're both sweating and panting, until he flips us both over to take charge himself after pulling my legs up to his shoulders.

Zack has always been adventurous, the kind of guy to ask me if we can recreate something he's seen in a porn movie, or heard one of his colleagues brag about. He doesn't rely on Viagra, and as far as I can tell, I'm more likely to suffer a heart attack than he is – in short, it usually takes me three minutes to mentally check out and just enjoy myself with him, and things pretty much take care of themselves along the way.

For him, that is true today as well, but not so for me. My body is used to the physical side of sex, quickly catching up with his, yet my mind just won't shut up. Try as I might, I can't really concentrate on what we're doing, and the smallest things catch my attention – there are new curtains on the windows, his phone is upside down on the nightstand, and I wonder if I've shut my fridge door properly. It's not unusual that my mind doesn't space out the moment there's a cock between my legs, but to be this distracted there's usually a good reason – only that I can't think of any right now. And thinking about that doesn't really help, either.

Frustration at myself is slowly winning over my mind, making it hard for me to concentrate on anything. I do my best not to let Zack know that I'm not a hundred percent involved – and in the end his satisfaction counts, not my own – but I seem to be less of a good actress than I hope, because an hour later, after coming for the first time, Zack rolls over onto his side and regards me levelly.

"Something wrong? You seem so distant today."

I shake my head and offer him a weak smile, before I put some conviction behind it.

"Not at all, I'm just a little unfocused today. I hope that doesn't take away from my performance?"

He answers my wink with a short laugh, and shakes his head.

"With a woman as sensual as you are? I doubt that's even possible. But if something is bothering you, we can talk about it while my batteries recharge. They say with age comes wisdom, I'm not so sure about that theory but we might give it a try."

"Thank you for the offer, but I wouldn't know what to say."

I almost feel ashamed admitting that, and when he keeps looking at me hopefully, I resort to dirty tricks. A lubed up little finger up the ass combined with steady stroking and sucking always works, and soon he's ready for the next round. Thankfully my plan works and his hard cock dissuades him from the notion that he might help me solve my non-existent problem, and I pay extra attention to keeping him riled up and horny until his stamina is almost depleted. Enough delicious friction eventually does shut up my mind, and I let him see and hear, uncensored, just how much I'm enjoying riding him.

After showering and dressing he lingers at the door, looking back with another silent offer plain between us, but when I ignore him he leaves me to myself. I don't have another appointment that day besides getting a pedicure at five, but the thought of spending even another second in this room is making me restless.

When I check my phone, I see that I have a text from Edward, and just seeing his name flash on the screen sends a queasy sensation to my middle. After hesitating for several seconds I read it, smiling slightly when all it says is, "Miss you." I consider calling him, but he probably has something more important to do than listen to his girlfriend rambling on about nothing, so I keep it to an equally short, typed, "Miss you, too."

With hours until my pedicure to spare, I decide to go shopping but in the first shop I realize that I'm not really in the mood to spend my hard-earned money on clothes I don't need today. Instead, I get a coffee and muffin at a coffee shop down the street, settling into my seat with a book. Print copy, because nothing beats the actual turning of pages – and because the day before my new tablet has been acting up, and I didn't want to end up stranded with nothing to do.

Yet, like fucking before, reading doesn't seem to be an occupation my mind is satisfied with. After re-reading the same page for the third time, I give up and stare sullenly at my half finished Latte. Like anyone else, I'm of course prone to have my sullen, broody days, as well, but I don't remember ever feeling this out of the loop without a cause.

With nothing able to hold my attention for long, I eventually crack down and catch a cab home, and after mindlessly cleaning my kitchen for half an hour, I grab the couple of dresses that I need to have dry cleaned on my way to the pedicure appointment. There, I spend half an hour listening in to the incessant chatter of clients and personnel alike, and feel even more disconnected than usual. They pretty much have two topics they gush about – their careers and their families. Usually their bitching about co-workers and mothers-in-law makes me smirk, at least on the inside, but not so today. While I seldom feel superior about my chosen work, it comes with a couple of perks besides making a lot of money relatively fast. I'm independent, I make my own schedule, I always have time for doctor's appointments, I rarely need a vacation, and nine out of ten clients actually make me feel cherished and good about what I do. I don't have to outsmart co-workers, and while she has barbs aplenty, Rose is, all in all, the best employer I could wish for. In light of her recent revelations her previous bitching spree makes sense to me, and in a way underlines why I never wanted to strive for going freelance. She cares about her girls, and not just as her money making assets, and I don't have problems handling her tough kind of love.

Yet, there's no real career I'm pursuing, no real goals to reach, no hurdles to take along the way. There are no achievements I could brag about if I wanted to, and if I'm honest, the typical, "And where do you see yourself in five years from now?" question I can easily answer with, "Exactly where I am right now." Before meeting Edward, I never really gave much thought about that, the same as my glaring lack of a private social life and family, but today all that is somehow getting to me.

The moment the plum colored nail polish has dried, I'm out of the building, and before I can have second thoughts, I call Edward. It's after six in the evening now, too early to expect him to be done with his day's work, but maybe just in time to catch him before he heads out for dinner. As such things go, he doesn't pick up, and I end the call when I get forwarded to his voice mail. My frustration levels spike, and I almost call Rose to ask if she has an evening appointment she could re-route my way, just to have something to do, but I put my phone away before I can hit speed dial.

I'm barely through my front door when my phone rings, and I almost drop everything in my scramble to reach it. I feel something very close to actual physical relief when I see that it's Edward, and quickly pick up.

"Hi!" I pipe up, very eloquently.

"Hi," he echoes, sounding amused. "Sorry I couldn't pick up before but I was in a meeting. Technically, I should still be in that meeting, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to step outside for a moment before I tear someone's head off on principle. So, why are you calling?"

His joke makes me feel worse, while the nagging voice in the back of my head laughs at my reaction. I'm really turning into a 14 year old girl.

"I just needed to hear your voice," I offer, because admitting that I was bored out of my mind sounds too bad to admit. "Please don't laugh at me."

He does chuckle then, but it's a warm sound.

"As I said in my text message earlier, I miss you. I'd never laugh at you for feeling the same way about me as well. Although, I do have to admit to a certain degree of smugness about it."

"Smugness? Because you have me wrapped around your little finger?"

"I'd rather have you wrapped around something else than just my finger," he huffs, making me grin.

"I don't have anything planned for the evening, so if you want to test that first-hand...?" I let my suggestion hang between us, still half joking.

"My meeting will go on until nine at least, probably ten, but if you want to come over afterwards, be my guest. My office is on the 52nd floor, I think you know which building."

I'm a little perplexed at our playful banter suddenly turning into a booty call, but the fact is that I really want to see him, and I've never been anyone to turn down a little fun in the office, seeing as I've never actually worked anywhere that constituted a regular office myself.

"Okay, I'll be there. See you then!"

"I'll be waiting for you," he drawls, then cuts off suddenly, and for half a minute, I hear the muted sounds of voices over the lines as he keeps talking to someone else. Then he's back, but only long enough to shoot off a quick, "Till then!" and he hangs up before I can reply.

Huh. That's a first, and I'm not quite sure how to handle the situation. Clients never hang up on me, and when Rose does, I'm usually happy not to have to keep talking to her when she's in one of her moods. I also understand that Edward has something more important to do than banter on the phone with me, even more so when he's going to see me in a couple of hours, but still. This entire relationship thing is already starting to confuse me, and I really don't know if I'm happy about the irrational way it makes me feel.

With a new purpose to the rest of my evening, my restlessness dissipates fast but I still make sure to take my time prepping myself. For the first time since meeting Edward, I'm at a loss for what to wear; if it were just any client paying me for an at-work booty call, I'd go with the classics, lace lingerie and a trench coat. But he's not a client, and somehow the notion of just dropping by to fuck before I go home again is rubbing me the wrong way.

In the end, I settle for a compromise – black lace lingerie and a form-hugging purple dress, no trench coat but a black jacket that goes well with the entire corporate chic theme, even at night. I keep my makeup light, and my purse almost empty except for the necessities, not even including my tablet because it is acting up again. After a mental note to myself that I should call Jasper tomorrow about that, I go outside to wait for my cab in the crisp evening air.

I've never actually done a booty call outside of work. Even before becoming an escort, my number of boyfriends has been very limited, and afterwards almost non-existent, as I told Edward when he asked. I know that some people think that what I value about my freedom and independence is limited, but I guess not wanting any man in my life to tell me what to do outside of an appointment comes with the territory. I would never have considered working for a male pimp, and while I thrive to fulfill my clients' every wish, on my own time I like to be the one in charge, and I like my men just as independent and non-clingy as I am. So far, Edward has been the exception on many accounts, and it occurs to me that part of my restlessness today might come from the fact that the past four days have been the first time I've been working while in a relationship with someone who knows what I do, and accepts me for what I am. I somehow can't seem to shake off the feeling that very soon the other shoe is going to drop.

Those somewhat morose feelings slowly give way to excitement the closer I get to my destination, and once I'm walking through the huge glass doors of the building towards the still manned reception, there's almost nothing left of my previous dark thoughts.

"I'm here for Mr. Cullen," I inform the prim looking man greeting me, and he mutely nods towards the row of elevators. There's no one else around, and within ten seconds the elevator doors slide open, letting me get on and ride up to the right floor without any hold-ups. Alighting there, I find myself in a broad, dimly lit hallway, all on my own.

I've never been here before, but it's not hard to guess where I have to go, with a cubicle farm room on the one side, and a corridor with single offices on the other. Around a bend in the hallway, I finally see my final destination, the prominent corner office ahead, the dark mahogany door halfway open, light spilling out like a beacon beckoning me.

I walk slowly as not to make too much sound to give away my presence prematurely, and after peeking inside to make sure I'm in the right place, I knock on the frame of the door. Edward looks up from the files he has been studying, smiling warmly the moment he recognizes me. Before I can close the door behind me, he's on his feet and around his desk, sweeping me up in a firm embrace while his lips hungrily seek mine. I eagerly wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and end up with my back against the door, his entire body pressed against mine. We kiss like two horny teenagers, not adults who should have learned some restraint long ago, and by the time he finally pulls away to catch his breath, I'm already regretting my choice of clothing.

"Nice to see you, too," I laugh as I nudge my thigh against his crotch, feeling his cock hard against the fabric of his dress slacks. Instead of answering verbally, he steals another kiss, then takes my hand and pulls me slowly towards the desk.

"I'm so happy you had time to come over tonight."

I nod, then laugh as he simply slumps down in his chair and pulls me sideways onto his lap, one arm around my lower back while the other strokes up my thigh appreciatively. At least he's still looking at my face, not my equally close cleavage, but his intention is quite obvious. In a way, I can understand – after a day of meetings and the daily grind he must be looking forward to relaxing a little, and what better way to let off steam than a little carnal R & R? Still, part of me would have appreciated a little more talking and a lot less groping, but then again I've had my share of actual physical release already with Zack.

Thinking of Zack while Edward's fingers slowly slide up the hem of my dress makes me uneasy, but not only for the obvious implication. It's almost the same I've felt earlier today when I've been so unfocused, and for a moment I'm afraid that my mind will just act the same as earlier today, keeping me from actually enjoying what used to be my favorite thing in the world. Unlike Zack, Edward immediately picks up on my change of mood, but I'm not sure if I should be happy about that, or not.

"Something wrong?"

The fact that he echoes my client's words only makes the unease inside of me spike, and the concern I see on his face is as touching as it is disconcerting.

"No, nothing important."

I can see that he understands what I tell him, but instead of backing down like I've hoped he would, Edward leans back, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You know that I don't ask about your clients and how your day has been because I respect your privacy, but if something happened you'd like to talk about, I'm all ears."

I shake my head. Why do all men around me suddenly have to be so considerate?

"Nothing happened, and certainly nothing I feel I need to talk about. I really don't want to strain your acceptance for feeling a little under the weather today."

Edward nods slowly, but he doesn't make a move to continue what he has started, and doesn't drop the topic, either.

"Bella, I'm not dying of jealousy all day long just thinking of how random guys touch you. I've only met you because of what you do for a living, not in spite of it. It would be highly hypocritical of me to be unable to handle that now, don't you think?"

"But there's a difference between being able to ignore something you know must be happening, and to actively have to deal with it."

He blinks, then cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slowly.

"This is not turning into the talk that ends with you whining that you're not good enough for me because you fuck other guys, right?"

For a moment, the notion alone makes me angry, but when I see him grin at the way I go rigid, I realize that he's just yanking my chain.

"I know that what I do does not demean me, and I wouldn't be here if I was convinced you'd want me to believe that. But you really give my mind too much credit if you think me capable of such reasoning while I'm almost sitting on your cock."

His smile broadens into a grin, while his hand slides underneath my dress and onto the sliver of skin between the end of my stockings and my garter belt. I'm almost disappointed that my simple deflection technique is working so well, but instead of bending me right over his desk, Edward keeps looking at my face.

"Something is bothering you, and I'd really like to know what. You know how much I love your honesty, I'd hate it if something as stupid as you feeling self-conscious just because my ego is larger than life would get in the way of that."

"But doesn't it bother you that something that happened between me and a client today might be getting between us now?"

He sighs, then lets go of my leg to rub his eyes wearily.

"It only bothers me if it's something negative. If he hurt you, or made you feel bad about what you do, or something like that. If you want to keep on doing what you do, I hope that you at least enjoy it. What would be the sense of me wanting for you to feel bad about what you like to do? That would make me even worse than a controlling asshole who tells you to quit because I can't stand other guys toughing you."

"It would make you seem human, for one thing," I interject, but then smile to take the sting out of my words. "Then again, nothing is a greater turn-on than a confident man who can handle his woman to have her own mind."

"'His woman,' I like the sound of that," he huffs, then leans close to place the gentlest of kisses into the shell of my ear. I can hear him breathe in slowly, before he goes on, talking so softly that I almost don't hear him.

"Please, just tell me what's bothering you, okay? I can't stand to see you looking so sad and confused."

There's nothing I can say to evade his questioning after that plea, so I resign myself to my fate, even though my thoughts are still a jumble beyond what I can dissect and really analyze.

"Since we got home I've had appointments daily, and up until today everything was pretty much the same. But today, for whatever reason, I couldn't really focus on what I was doing, and I got so distracted that the client even noticed that I wasn't as attentive as I usually am. It's one thing for me to not feel completely invested in what I do, but I can't let my clients realize that. It's unprofessional."

"You do have awfully high standards you force yourself to adhere to," he remarks, then smiles gently when he sees me frown at what sounds like an accusation to me.

"I wouldn't be making the kind of money I make if I were distracted and sloppy all the time."

I get a partly frustrated sigh in return.

"But even you have to admit that like everyone else, you can't always be completely in the here and now. We all slip sometimes, have days where things just don't work entirely the way we want them to."

"Not me."

I know I sound unreasonably petulant as I hear my own words come out that way, and hate how condescending his smile turns for a moment.

"As much as it pains me to say this, you're not perfect yourself, Bella. And that's a damn good thing, because you're already so close it hurts sometimes, you gorgeous vixen."

His playful tone more than his words makes me chuckle, adding a hint of levity to the situation that could otherwise have become uncomfortably strained.

"But that's my thing, being perfect. That's what I do, I'm the perfect woman for my client, not some girl who's happy to let herself get fucked for money while she thinks about her boyfriend."

I immediately wish I could take that sentence back, but Edward only seems to be amused by that blurted out confession.

"I'm sure you are that perfect woman to them, even if you wish it was my cock you are sucking on right then. Men are not complicated enough to give a fuck about that when said woman is going down on said cock." I raise my brows at that, making him grin wryly, and when he pulls me closer, his voice drops lower. "Plus, I have to admit that the thought of you thinking about me while you fuck them actually makes me hard, and I don't give a shit about their possibly hurt feelings otherwise."

"Really, it does?" I reply, a bit dumbfounded.

"And why not? It's like the ultimate 'Fuck you!' without me having to do a thing for it."

I don't know how to respond to that, besides being glad that he sees it that way. Before I can reply, a door slams in the hallway outside, and Edward tenses as the sound of approaching steps turns louder. I'm sure that he would survive being caught like this, with his girlfriend on his lap, but suddenly a different scenario is much more enticing to me. Grinning at him, I slide off his lap, then crouch down on the floor and crawl underneath the desk, yanking on his leg once to make him push his chair closer to me. He eyes me questioningly for a moment, but before he can ask there's a knock on his door, and he quickly follows my lead, pushing his chair close enough that unless someone is standing behind him, I'm all but hidden from view.

"Come in," Edward calls to the unexpected late-night visitor at the door.

Acting quickly, I reach up and slide down the zipper of his pants just as the door opens, letting the slight squeak hide the telltale sound of what I'm doing. Edward glances down at me with a hint of panic in his eyes but then focuses on whoever enters, yet relaxes a little more and sinks deeper into the chair to give me more room to maneuver.

"Good that you're still in, I just got the new numbers on the Dyson account, and we should review them before I call the Aussies in two hours to seal the deal."

I have no idea who the voice belongs to, as the desk has a solid front that keeps me from peeking. Judging from the timber I'd say a man in his late twenties, early thirties, typical work horse who's doing over-time when the rest of the office is soundly asleep at home.

"Sure, do you have them here?"

I tune out their conversation while I unbutton the fly of Edward's pants, then worm my way inside to untangle his cock from his underwear. His cock is back to being only slightly erect, thanks to the unwelcome intrusion, but even before I wrap my hand around the base and lick the head languidly, I feel him stir again.

I take my time, paying attention to not making any sound at all – no loud breathing, slurping, gagging, humming, nothing at all – but I know that slow can be just as good as fast and enthusiastic at the right time. After all, there's nothing he can do except let me work, completely at the mercy of my torturous slow pace.

In no time his cock is at full attention, begging to be licked and sucked and stroked, and who am I to resist that temptation? I give Edward a lot of credit for how stoic he remains as I take him into my mouth, even when I let go with my hand so that I can go down on him completely, my lips remaining pressed against his crotch while his cock is twitching happily at the back of my throat. The only sign just how much what I do is affecting him, is the way his fingers dig into his thigh next to my face, making me want to reach for them and drag them to the back of my head instead.

There seems to be a lot that needs reviewing because the guy stays forever, even past the point where my jaw muscles start to ache. I do my best to switch up my tactics, going fast and slow, just licking at the sensitive underside of the glans between deep-throating him over and over, the increasing salty taste on my tongue evidence of how effective what I am doing is.

Finally, after what must have been twenty minutes at least, the guy finally leaves, and Edward exhales loud enough that he might have heard it even through the door. He gently nudges my shoulder with his hand, silently telling me that I can resurface again, but I have my mind set on something else entirely. Grabbing the base of his cock in earnest, I start pumping him hard and fast, matching the bob of my head to the motion while I suck and swirl my tongue. Edward groans loudly, then gasps as he tenses up, then comes down my throat with a long-drawn, low moan.

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat I get to my feet, in the same motion dropping my panties on the floor, before I straddle him, his saliva slick cock coming to rest against my pussy. He's still breathing heavily as he pulls me closer, his hands grabbing my ass after shoving the dress up to my hips, but he makes no move to undress me further.

"You evil woman, you."

I let light laughter be my reply as I lean into him, licking a line across his throat just above the collar of his shirt. That simply isn't enough, so I pull away again, then remove his tie with practiced ease, and unbutton his shirt just enough to grant me better access. No focusing problems now, I notice to myself, as I hungrily kiss the side of his neck, relishing how his breathing picks up when I drag my teeth lightly over his skin.

His cock is slowly growing erect again as I keep rubbing myself against him, but Edward seems too impatient to wait. I moan loudly when I feel two of his fingers push into me, then a third. I shudder deliciously as lust flares to full life inside of me, wiping away any doubts I've been lugging around with me the entire day now.

Soon I grow tired of his neck, so I kiss my way back up to his lips, dipping my tongue between them before we resume the sloppy kissing from before, only a lot more heated than before.

"I can't tell you how hot that just was, you sucking me off under the desk while that tool was ranting on in total oblivion," he groans into my mouth, then grins at me when I pull back enough to look at his face properly.

"I'm a little miffed I couldn't manage to make you lose it while he was still there. Your ability to restrain yourself is too strong for your own good."

He laughs, then steals another kiss.

"Is it that enticing to embarrass me like that in front of one of my junior flunkies?"

"I'm not sure he would have seen it as embarrassing. I mean, you have it all, money, power, and a girlfriend who comes in late in the evening to suck you off under your desk. The only reaction I can think of is envy."

"And you wouldn't mind him knowing at all?"

Shaking my head, I kiss him again.

"Trust me, it takes a lot more to bother me than a guy watching me suck off another guy."

By then his dick is hard enough for round two, and Edward withdraws his fingers only to replace them with his cock. I sigh contently, making him chuckle, but that doesn't diminish the fire in his eyes.

"Is that something you like doing, being watched while you fuck?"

I shrug, then laugh when he swats my ass playfully.

"I wouldn't say I love it, but I certainly don't mind having an audience."

With the hand that hasn't been inside of me previously, he pulls my shoulders closer to his chest, making my ass stick out further so that I can slide up and down on him more easily, while his other hand remains on my ass. Then I feel one of his fingers, still slick from my own juices, push against my anus, until he slides just the first inch inside. I moan loudly to show my appreciation, earning a wider grin from him.

"Is there something else you enjoy doing when you have a larger audience than just one guy?"

"You mean, like taking one in my pussy while the other fucks my ass?"

"Something like that," he grunts between kisses.

"While I love the extra stimulation, I've always been a one-on-one kind of girl. I guess I love to be the center of attention too much to have to compete with anyone else in any way."

"Good," he drawls. "Because while I can handle you fucking other guys while you think of me, I don't think I ever want to physically share you."

After that, I don't last very long, the deep tone of his voice dragging me under just as much as the delicious twin sensation of his cock and finger inside of me. Not knowing whether the guy from before is still in his office or not, I do my best to stifle my cry as I come, and for some insane reason it seems like a great idea to bite down on the side of his neck that I've previously licked and kissed. In that moment, I don't care if I hurt him, and part of me is even elated at the thought of marking him, making him mine. I can never do that with any of my clients, not even a hickey in a less inconspicuous place, but there's no reason why I can't do that with Edward now. The sensation of my teeth sinking into his flesh proves too much for him as well, and he comes almost at the same time as I do, although with a lot less bucking and writhing.

I remain leaning into him for a while, panting hard as I feel my body come down from the physical high, a bright smile on my face. My glee dims a little when I finally straighten and realize that I've actually left somewhat of a half-bite low on the side of his neck, easily covered up by the collar of his shirt when buttoned, but the visceral nature of that animalistic streak still baffles me.

I've never felt like that in my entire life before, and like with so many other things, it scares me a little.

Edward seems to realize why I'm still staring transfixed at his neck, and when he touches the bite mark and winces, I feel like apologizing, but he shuts me up with a kiss before I can do more than open my mouth.

"I like that possessive streak of yours," he surmises jokingly, then kisses me until I stop frowning. I have to admit, I'm too mellow to care about it much, seeing as it doesn't bother him right now, and I'm just happy to be so close to him.

Sadly, long before I can tire of cuddling in our by now awkward position we get distracted, this time by his phone ringing. Edward looks at the number on the display, then grimaces.

"I should really get that."

I nod, then slide off him, taking a moment to wipe up our combined gunk from my thighs. Again, I'm surprised how professional he sounds even though he is still breathing a little too fast, and his face retains that freshly fucked glow, his now flaccid cock hanging out of his pants.

After two minutes, it becomes apparent that this is not going to be a quick call, so I fetch my panties from the floor, and after blowing Edward a silent kiss that he 'plucks' out of the air with a bright grin and a wink, I leave, happy, satisfied, and completely at ease.

I'm almost home when my post orgasmic haze lifts enough for my thoughts to resume pestering me. As if all my mind has needed was a quick pleasure driven time out, I suddenly realize what has been bugging me all day long since my appointment with Zack.

Up until now, I've never had problems compartmentalizing my life. When I'm with a client, all that counts is to give him what he wants, even if that means doing something I don't necessarily love doing that much – my reward is not the money I get, nor the orgasms that very often accompany my appointments, but the knowledge that I am able to fully satisfy my client. During that hour or two, they are my entire world, the center of my focus, and all I care about. While I am with them, I give up part of myself to be what they need, like checking a coat before entering a restaurant. And just like that, I also slide out of the headspace required for an appointment, and I can be myself again the moment it is over.

Yet with Zack, I just couldn't let go, I couldn't shrug off that part of me my clients never get to see, and consequently couldn't focus on him as much as he deserved. I'm sure that he still got what he needed out of it, but I know that I could have done a better job. I should have done a better job.

With Edward, there is no part of me I leave behind, because with him, I'm entirely myself. And for the first time ever, I hate the fact that it can't be like that all the time. But there is no simple solution, because the idea of quitting my job and being entirely dependent on him scares me a hell of a lot more than the thought of having to split myself like that every day to be able to continue working. Still, it's a problem, one I've never anticipated having, and it leaves me with the uneasy certainty that admitting my feelings to Edward might have been a way to complicate things, not make them easier.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd love to know what you think, even though replies will have to wait until I'm back!<strong>

**I hope I'll find the time to write the next chapter until Tuesday, but I can't promise anything, and with the internet connection randomly failing for hours at a time I don't know if I'll have the nerve for it, either – but I'll try!**

**Right now, if you want to reach me, the easiest way is via facebook!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A huge thank you goes to prassacut & chrissy1201, for being the steadiest cheerleaders, even when the connection keeps failing! Also to my beta, Cullen Confection!**

**Thank you everybody who took the time to review – can't tell you how frustrating it is that I don't have the steady connection to reply! And extra whoops for the couple of people who started reading recently and left reviews for all the existing chapters. ILY!**

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><p>Thursday has been an emotional roller-coaster. Friday, thankfully, finds me a lot more relaxed.<p>

Part of the reason for that is the fact that while I'm anxious about the two appointments I have that day, things return flawlessly to business as usual, once I've shaken off the uneasiness about what might possibly happen. Five minutes into meeting Parker I feel myself slip into our conversation, and by the time John comes with a whooping shout all over my tits, there's no strain in my laughter, no nagging voice in the back of my head.

I'm relieved and happy, and seeing as the next entry in my weekend agenda is 'jump Edward', I couldn't be more at ease.

His busy schedule has one inevitable drawback, which is another twenty-two hours until I can run up to him and shower his face with kisses; preferably, while working his cock out of his pants so I can ride him into oblivion. I might be acting like a girly girl at times – which I find highly disconcerting when I catch myself doing that – but with my mind in a less twisted state, my sexual appetite is right there along for the ride. I value Edward's company more than anyone else's at the moment, but that doesn't mean I have to turn into a nun.

It's evening already by the time I get home, feeling somewhat accomplished. As I walk up to my front door, I see the lights come on in Jasper's house, and remember that I've wanted to ask him to look at my tablet for days now.

He opens the door seconds after I knock, making me wonder if I'm keeping him from going out, but he doesn't look very Friday Night ready in his usual jeans and t-shirt – today's is black, a lego version of a playboy bunny, winking, at the front. His bright smile at seeing me is infectious, dipping towards wry when he sees the broken piece of electronics in my hands.

"Let me guess, it's acting up?" he says for a greeting, his conversational tone making me feel less like I'm using him, and more like he's simply happy to see me.

"What else? I swear, I'm cursed!"

"Normally, I'd say no, but with your track record I've considered calling the Winchesters a couple of times already!" He turns a little self-conscious when I obviously don't get the joke, but I do my best to keep smiling. Jasper scratches his head, then takes a step back, the universal gesture for letting me enter. "If you have a couple of minutes, I can look at it right away."

"I really don't want to bother you on a Friday evening, but things keep getting in the way."

Like booty and phone calls by my spanking new boyfriend. I'm still not used to that, even inside my head.

"Oh, don't worry, my raid isn't until 10 P.M., I'm all yours till then. And in your case, I'd even make an exception and refrain from antisocial, virtual ass kicking."

"Please, don't, I'm sure those asses need to be kicked, and who am I to come between them and your virtual foot?"

He laughs, even though my joke is as lame as they get, and walks towards his kitchen, already gunning up the coffee maker. I leave the offending piece of technology on the table and join him as he gets two mugs out of the cabinet. The silence between us stretches as we both listen to the machine gurgling and coughing, and while I'm nursing my coffee, Jasper picks up my tablet.

"You've tried rebooting?"

"Of course, I'm not that much of a newbie. But the issues just get worse. First it just didn't display some ebooks, then it kept disconnecting me from my mail-box, and it randomly shuts off at times."

He keeps scratching his head while he turns it on, then swipes his fingers over the touch screen with what looks like more precision than I will ever muster.

"Huh, that's strange," he murmurs, then looks up at me. "Where did you get it from?"

"Official retailer. I still have the receipt, if it's broken or something."

"And you didn't let anyone else tamper with it?"

Now I'm starting to get a little weirded out.

"Nope, I'm faithful when it comes to my tech support."

He flashes me a grin, then gestures for me to follow him as he continues on to his den. As usual, I'm impressed with the array of monitors and machinery that is his work station, and I look on in awe as he connects it to the laptop sitting on a side table and runs what looks like some diagnostics program to me.

"A fluke, probably," he murmurs, but keeps frowning.

"Is it something I could have caused? I swear, I didn't even watch porn on it!"

He pauses for a moment and shoots me a long look, snorting at my wide, innocent eyes.

"As I keep telling you, it's not the porn that infests your hard drive, it's the viruses you let in if you blindly agree to everything someone wants you to agree to. Just like in real life."

Sometimes remarks like that make me wonder if dear Jasper hasn't done more than just format my computers and set them back up again, but he's the transparent kind of guy who couldn't even lie about stealing the newspaper once, I can't imagine him knowing what I do and being able to play this oblivious.

"I'm sure I never downloaded anything from a site I didn't trust, then."

"Good girl."

I laugh at his remark, then keep drinking my coffee while he types away. Ten minutes later, he disconnects the tablet and hands it to me, not quite accidentally brushing his fingers against mine. I'm sure he thinks he's so smooth when he does something like that, but while I don't have the heart to break it to him that he isn't, I don't acknowledge the gesture, either.

"Here, try it now. I've updated the OS, maybe that helps."

I nod, then switch the devilish thing on, but within half a minute it's acting up again. When I simply turn the thing around and show it to him, his frown deepens and he looks a little puzzled as he takes it from me again.

"Do you have any vital data on it, or can I go ahead and wipe it clean?"

"Please go ahead, I think I can find my cute cat pictures again if I really need to go 'awwww' over them."

Jasper grins, then re-connects the tablet to his laptop, and more scary typing into black screens with white fonts happens. He keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, thinking he's stealthy about it, but of course I notice – and ignore him.

Once he's done working his magic, he hands me the tablet back, a sure grin on his face.

"I've formatted the hard drive and set up the operating system again, now it should work flawlessly. No idea what went wrong, probably some issue when they put the OS in place at the factory. It happens. It's not like science is, well, science, or something."

He looks pained at his own rambling for a second, and I hurry to take the high tech paper weight from him to move our conversation along. As usual, he refuses to let me pay for his time, and I thank him again, now for the coffee. Jasper follows me to the door, yet before I can take my leave, he calls out after me.

"Uh, Bella, would you maybe like to grab a couple of beers at the pub down the street?"

Still turned away from him, I wince, then plaster a pleasant yet sad smile onto my face. He doesn't need more to realize what my answer is and his shoulders sag a bit, but he still waits for my verbal reply.

"Jasper, you know that I value you as a neighbor and friend, but that's it."

He's a nice guy, and he definitely deserves something else than me. A guy of Edward's caliber might handle me and my past, but Jasper would just break on it. Even if I wasn't seeing Edward, I'd never have accepted going on a date with him.

I expect that to conclude things, hoping that after a night spent grumbling over stuck up, pretty bitches, he'll realize that it's for the best, and we can resume our pleasant yet reserved kind of relationship.

Jasper surprises me when he straightens, then blurts out, "I can change, you know? Just because I prefer to hang out with people I don't know personally doesn't meant that I'm socially incapable of normal human interactions."

His determination baffles me, while his words grate along my spine in a way he surely couldn't have intended.

"Any woman who requires you to change is not worth your attention. Good night, Jasper."

I don't wait for his answer this time but close the door behind me, then quickly make my way over to my house.

The upside of being a confident, beautiful woman – people forgive you easily.

The downside of being a whore who compartmentalizes her life too much – you're doomed to spend Friday evening alone, at home, when you opt not to take any clients over the weekend.

I know that Edward is still swarmed with work, otherwise he wouldn't have told me that he doesn't have time for me before Saturday afternoon, but I'm sure that he'll welcome a brief distraction in the form of a phone call. He picks up on the third ring, his voice pleasant and warm even over the static of the line.

"Hey, you."

"Hey, you, too," I reply, already grinning like an imbecile. I hate what all this is turning me into, while at the same time I've never felt better in my entire life.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Just wanted to keep you from important stuff for a couple of minutes."

"You never keep me from anything," he replies, of course blatantly lying, but who cares?

"Are you still in the office?" The memory of our tryst makes me hot and bothered all over again.

"No, I was just leaving for Esme's."

Now that's not the reply I expect.

"Business meeting on a Friday evening? Now that sounds ominous. Don't you people have a life?"

"It's a dinner party, not strictly business," he explains, sounding a little cautious.

"Oh." Not the most eloquent reply, but I don't know what else to say. In fact, I don't know how to react at all.

"I thought you wouldn't want to come, so I didn't tell you in the first place."

"You don't have to justify what event you take me to and which you don't," I offer, my standard answer I'd give any client – but he's not my client anymore. Edward obviously realizes that, his tone now turning apologetic.

"I didn't want to upset you. Please, don't be mad at me now."

"Of course I'm not mad at you," I say with more conviction, confusion slowly dissipating. "But why shouldn't I want to go there with you?"

"It's at Esme's," he repeats, now sounding a little irritated.

"And? We got along quite well before."

"And Carlisle will be there, too," he deadpans, as if that explains everything. For me, it doesn't.

"I figured that."

His answering silence speaks louder than words, and finally I catch on to what he's trying to say. I have to work hard to keep the laughter bubbling up in my throat from spilling out, but am unable to ban the mirth from my tone.

"You mean, I should have problems with meeting him again because he's one of my former clients? Edward, if the party is large enough, I'll very likely meet someone else there who I've fucked. It happens all the time. No big deal."

Contrary to my expectation, he doesn't sound relieved.

"It doesn't bother you at all?"

"We had a business arrangement. We terminated that after things were over. That's it, as far as I'm concerned. He got what he wanted, I got my money, we both move on from there." He remains silent, so I add, "In the power play triangle between him, you, and me, I'm the tool and you're the victim, not vice versa. And judging from your reaction, I'd say his plan worked better than I thought. You shouldn't give him that much power over you."

More silence answers me, to the point where I'm starting to get uncomfortable, but when he finally ends it, Edward sounds relieved.

"I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're not some emotional airhead kind of girl, but a rational, intelligent woman."

"That's me, always good for a surprise."

He laughs, the sound disbanding the tension inside of me like nothing else could.

"So, are you asking me out tonight then?" I venture an educated guess. "I can be ready for pickup in fifteen minutes, I'm that good." Always showering after an appointment with a client helps, too.

"Do you mind catching a cab to my house? I still have a couple of reports that need my attention that I wanted to work on tomorrow before you come over, and I have a certain suspicion that I won't really feel like working once I have you sprawling naked on my bed. I could send James over to your house again,, but I somehow get the feeling you both will appreciate it more if I don't."

"Sure, no problem, and you might just be right with that guess. I'll try to be as fast as I can!"

"See you soon, then. And, Bella?"

"Yes?"

"Love you."

He hangs up before I can reply, leaving me grinning at my kitchen table. I call a cab to pick me up in thirty minutes – if I have more time, I'm glad to use it – then quickly run upstairs to pack my things and slap on some makeup, letting the hot rollers turn my hair into a semblance of a coiffure.

For once, the mansion's front gate is not opening miraculously, but that's not really a problem as Edward has already provided me with the new alarm codes, so I let myself in, feeling a little sneaky.

There's no one in the entrance hall so I leave my bags there next to the stairs, and on second thought kick off my heels, too. When I strain my ears, I can hear Edward's voice, faintly coming from upstairs, so I guess he's in the library, talking to someone on the phone.

Padding up the stairs, I try to be as silent as possible in my attempt to surprise him – or at least avoid running into James before I've made it into the library. My guess must have been right for the closer I get, the louder the voices are, and soon I can discern that he isn't talking on the phone, but to his impertinent butler.

I don't know what makes me linger in the hallway outside of the library instead of going right in, but when I become aware of what they are talking about, I stop short in my tracks.

"And if I may say so, Sir, I think it would be a grave mistake to bring Ms. Swan along," James remarks, his tone dry but laced with the usual contempt when he refers to me. From where I'm standing, I can't see either of them, but don't dare to inch closer now lest I get discovered.

"Why not? We're not that snobbish that we look down at everyone who hasn't been to an Ivy League college."

Edward's reply is matter of fact, typical for him. While my first impression has been that they must be talking about Esme's party, I'm not so certain now.

"I did not refer to her academic achievements as a reason not to have her accompany you. But you certainly understand the sensitivity of the matter. These are not your business associates who you could impress by bringing a hooker as a date, they are your college peers."

Oh, right, there's always that. While I myself am partly amused about James again throwing his reserved kind of hissy fit, Edward is not. When he replies his tone has changed from conversational to a hard quip, and the mental picture of that frown he rarely wears around me comes up in my mind.

"Considering I won't be asking her to work on the trip, that shouldn't be a problem. It's a reunion, not a contest who has accomplished the most."

"I beg to differ," comes James's dry retort.

Edward grunts, then I hear his chair scraping back.

"You've made your opinion heard. Anything else?"

"The Bentley is prepared. Will you need a chauffeur?"

"Thank you, no, I'll drive myself. That will be all."

I have a moment to decide whether to try to appear as if I haven't been standing in the hall for the last minute, but with my feet bare to minimize the sound of my approach, my chances are slim of succeeding. James walks out of the library before I come up with a good excuse, and his eyes zero in on me the moment they can. His mouth is already set in a thin line, and now twists into his customary sneer when dealing with me. I respond with a bright, fake smile on my own.

"Good evening, Ms. Swan. Your less than subtle way of eavesdropping is, without a doubt, one of your more admirable traits."

"Good evening to you, too, James," I reply haughtily, then talk past him into the library, my back straight and my obvious dismissal of him hopefully deepening that sneer of his. There is no way Edward has missed our exchange, the light frown on his forehead underlining that, but he still smiles as he gets up to embrace and kiss me.

"You're early."

"Not really, as we didn't agree on a set time. I can keep harassing your butler, though, if you need a couple more minutes."

"That won't be necessary," he laughs, then reaches behind his back and yanks the power cord out of his laptop, effectively killing the thing. I can't help but frown, Jasper's advice to always shut down the system properly loud in the back of my head. While it is sound advice for the likes of me, I trust that Edward either knows what he's doing, or has enough code monkeys at his beck and call not to care about the stability of his system, and, either way, I don't really care, either.

I know that he knows that I've listened in on his conversation with James, the butler's passing comment to me must have alerted him to it if he hasn't known so before, so I don't even play coy as I look at him questioningly.

"What was that about?"

"That? Nothing important," Edward grunts, then shakes his head, a sardonic smile coming to his face. "Just James overstaying his welcome."

"I meant the reunion, not his doubtlessly refined opinion of me."

He hesitates for a second, then shrugs.

"It is what it is, the annual pre-reunion get together of a bunch of airheads who think they are bright enough to warrant forming their own secret society like bash. I've never been very fond of it, it's just bragging and unwarranted elitism, and I figured if I went there, I might as well bring you, so that there's at least one person around who I will enjoy talking to."

"You're such a charmer," I coo, batting my eyelashes at him while I lean closer, and he laughs whole-heartedly before he pulls me to him and kisses me. When he finally lets go of me he's still grinning, and I feel myself mirroring that. His eyes drop from mine then to examine my dress – or just blatantly stare at my cleavage – and he nods approvingly as he lets go of me.

"As much as I'd love to peel you out of this, I think we should get going instead. You look ravishing."

"Why, thank you," I laugh, then grabbing his hand, twirl around to show off the dress from all sides. He playfully swats my ass when I shake it at him, and a second later find myself wedged between him and the desk again, his lips and tongue muffling my surprised yelp. It takes some pushing and pounding on his shoulder for him to relent and let go of me again, and it's obvious what he'd rather do than go to Esme's dinner party.

"Come on, Casanova, you don't want to be late because of fooling around with your girlfriend."

"Actually, we are already late."

"Later still, then."

He makes a face like a petulant little boy, which doesn't really go all that well with the hungry look in his eyes, and we both end up laughing at his demeanor. Finally conceding, he shrugs into his suit jacket, then leads me out of the library with one hand at the small of my back. I quickly slip on my heels and coat, and pick up my clutch, the only items still left in the hallway downstairs, as James has already taken care of the rest of my things. Outside, a midnight black Bentley is idling in the driveway, and I chuckle again when Edward gallantly holds the door for me.

More joking and laughing ensues on the way to our destination, the air between us relaxed. There's no lingering resentment left in me because of Edward's initial plan of attending without me, and whenever I look at him, I can see plainly how happy he is about having me along.

We reach Esme's estate about half an hour later, and when I say estate, I really mean it. Edward's home might be sprawling and huge, in particular for a single man and his insufferable butler, but the group of buildings clustered together in the park like gardens behind the discreet driveway are a few dimensions further removed from what normal people ever get to set foot in. At first glance, I can't say if it's authentic or very well aged to look like some European manor built way before the 1800s. There's even a valet ready to park the car, and Edward leads me inside, a wry smile on his face, while I still gawk at our surroundings.

Edward obviously knows his way around the house, taking a couple of turns through the rooms where people are milling around, enjoying drinks and _hors__ d'oeuvre_ with their light conversation. It's not hard to make out Esme, the very center of attention of the thickest crowd of attendees, with Carlisle lurking nearby, obviously displeased that his wife gets all the attention, and he just the passing greetings courtesy demands. I didn't lie when I told Edward that I wasn't concerned about meeting Carlisle again – he had his chance, I won't take him as a client again, but that's it.

While people have largely ignored us on our way through their midst, that quickly changes when Esme sees us, and completely ignoring the man she's been talking to until then, turns towards us and opens her arms.

"Edward! And Bella, what a pleasant surprise!"

They hug, a real hug, not just the high society air-kiss version of it, which is what Esme and I then proceed to do, but her smile is real, reaching her eyes and everything. She dons a wry grin as she looks from one of us to the other, then adds, "Well, now I can see now why you're so uncustomarily late."

"Actually, I was working, and if not for my beautiful girlfriend here, I would likely still be pouring over the figures."

A very blatant yet effective way of saying so much with only so many words, and it's fascinating to watch the quality of Esme's gaze change as she looks at me again. Her smile says approval, but there's something in her eyes that isn't entirely in accord with it, but I hold her gaze levelly until she looks away. She then turns to the gathered people at large and playfully claps her hands.

"Now that everyone is here, let's proceed with dinner, I'm starving!"

Laughter from all around answers her, most of it fake, but no one protests as the thong of people streams into the next room, which turns out to be an honest to God dining hall including a banquet table, seating at least sixty easily. Edward leads me along to the very middle of the table, but I don't even know why I'm surprised to end up sitting so close to Esme herself, with just Edward between us. Carlisle, seated opposite of his wife, is smirking in my general direction, but like everyone else, I choose to ignore him. Introductions are made while waiters quickly refill glasses and get more champagne for everyone not yet armed with a flute, and while I don't know anyone around me, most of their names are familiar.

As dinner progresses, I find myself slipping into familiar patterns of joining and leading conversations – after all, that has been part of my job for a very long time, and I'm a naturally chatty person to start with. The food is extraordinary, as is the wine the later courses come with, and I'm having a great time, even though Edward is mostly talking to Esme, but that leaves me to joke my way through the courses with Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson opposite of me, a Scottish couple with healthy appetites and permanently filled Whiskey glasses independently of what wine is served. I can't help but notice that Mrs. Ferguson is blatantly checking me out, even more than her husband, who seems easily distracted by food and yet more food, but her quick wit and scathing remarks keep conversation light and amusing.

That is, until, over cheese and fruit, she asks the crucial question.

"So, Bella, what does a bright, educated woman like you do for a living, besides turning heads left and right?"

People tend to ask me that question eventually. Normally, I have two answers I give, depending on how casual my client sees our arrangement. Either I'm honest and tell people straight out what I do, or I use the excuse about being some eccentric elder woman's personal assistant, which is what my parents think I rake in money with. Yet now, the question is making me highly uneasy, maybe because it's the first time I get asked in a situation where I'm not here in that capacity.

And judging from Carlisle's leer, he won't let me dish out lies, anyway. While Edward has been following our conversation more or less, he seems to ignore my squirming, making it obvious that I won't get any support from his side. The only thing I can do is go into this with my eyes open and my head held high.

Swallowing the unease trying to constrict my throat, I don a bright smile.

"I'm working as an escort."

People stare and conversations cut off, farther down the table than I would have expected anyone to be listening in. Plus, it's not that unlikely an occupation to find at occasions like this, I'm sure that the black haired woman eight places down from me on the opposite side of the table is working for one of Rose's bitchy friends. She is about the only one who doesn't stare at me in the seconds that follow, but that's only a small measure of comfort.

Mr. Ferguson clears his throat, his eyes darting between Edward and me, as if he can't wrap his head around the implications – implications I feel the rising need to clear up. His wife, in the meantime, looks twice as interested as before. Perfect.

Before, I've never felt the need to defend myself – and I don't think I would have clarified anything if it had just been me, but I don't like the way people start looking at Edward now, even though at least some of them must be in the know of his previous habits of choosing his companions. Trying for levity, if only to break the tension, I try to hold on to my smile, but feel it slipping.

"Of course, tonight I'm off the clock, this is all pleasure, not work."

Considering the nature of my work, that sentence only seems to make things worse, at least to me. Looks are exchanged, grapes are speared – and thankfully, after another ten torturous seconds, things settle back to how they have been before. I allow myself a deep exhale, gulping down some of my sweet dessert wine, while I feel the tension drain from me. Edward and Esme are still discussing something as if nothing has happened, and considering that it's entirely possible that nothing _has_ happened and it's all just my own paranoia speaking, I don't mind. I'm a little surprised that Carlisle hasn't said a single thing, but then I can see where Esme might have been displeased to have people realize that her husband has been whoring around with her protégé's girlfriend. What he does do is continue to stare at me, a slight smile tugging on the left corner of his mouth, but I choose to ignore him.

And as the minutes go by, I realize that that has become a common theme – but now also including me.

That's something that has never happened before, and this time I'm sure it's not just my nerves tricking me. It's as if suddenly I'm no longer considered worth their notice, and the few times I try to re-join conversations, I get interrupted almost immediately, rather rudely so. If nothing else, my job has taught me to take hints, and when they come this obvious, it's hard to ignore them. I'm not even sure Edward is aware of what is happening, as immersed in his discussion with Esme as he is, and contrary to Carlisle I'm not happy with just sitting there and watching people have fun.

Ten minutes after my unfortunate confession, I can't take it anymore and with a little more force than necessary push my chair back from the table.

"If you will excuse me," I mutter to no one in particular, then I flee, there's no other way to describe it. I end up in the kitchen, earning a puzzled look from the waiters that I ignore. Blindly grabbing a glass and bottle, I jug back the first hard liquor I can find which turns out to be a very therapeutic shot of vodka.

I think I would have had less problems if they had ignored me from the start, but I hate that something as insignificant as my job can change their mind that easily, as if the fact that I'm a whore reduces my IQ to a two figure number and nullifies my education and general intelligence. I have to admit, if things were different I might be prone to similar prejudice, but the fact that tonight I'm not even here as an escort, but as Edward's girlfriend, only makes everything worse. They've not only excised me, but him too, and that's something that goes against every fiber of my being, as his girlfriend and as an escort alike.

Someone behind me clears his throat, and for a moment I think it's Edward. The logical conclusion would be that it's him, concerned and wanting to check up on me – but when I raise my eyes, I come face to face with Carlisle.

Figures.

I don't even try to summon the strength for a friendly, if fake, smile and just look at him, a step away from a sneer. Naturally, he's in high spirits, perfectly beaming at me while he reaches around me – intruding into my personal space – for the vodka bottle. He expertly pours himself a glass without taking his eyes off me, then leans against the counter still somewhat too close to me for my comfort.

"Coming here to gloat?" I venture a guess, my voice oddly close to how Rose sounds when she's taunting me about a mistake I've made. Perfect, not only do I feel like a jaded whore tonight, I also sound like one.

"Maybe I just want to be polite and keep you company, when everyone else has forsaken you?"

"Highly unlikely," I huff. "Hell hasn't frozen over yet, so I can't see you being polite."

My jibe amuses him and he keeps on grinning as he takes a long sip from his glass.

"My, my, so bitter, and there aren't even any lemon slices around. You were a lot more confident and happy the last time we met."

The depressing thing is he's right, and I can't even find the spite to deny it as I keep looking at the mirth so plain on his face. Fact is, he didn't humiliate _me_ when he dragged me into my basement and pretend forced me to suck his cock, he was just enjoying his little fantasy; here, today, it's me, my defenses down and everything I usually keep locked away from my clients is open for scrutiny, and has been deemed unworthy of their attention.

I can't hold his gaze any longer so I look away, then finish my vodka and get a refill. The sharp bite of the alcohol doesn't help much, and I consider simply leaving altogether when Carlisle continues.

"What did you expect when you became his girlfriend, that like in a fairytale things will suddenly change? Judging from the way you react, they have changed, haven't they?"

He laughs, and the sound grates down my spine. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, wishing I was somewhere else, or at least alone, but no such luck. He doesn't even need a verbal reply from me to keep on talking, as it is.

"He's playing with you, you know that?"

Carlisle's words surprise me, and the fact that he drags Edward into it gets my spirit to return, at last. Turning around slowly, I look at him flatly.

"I have no idea what you mean."

"No? You really think you're so special, the first woman to break the ice and worm herself into his heart? Oh, please, stop there right now, your naiveté is killing me! You should add stand-up comedy to your repertoire."

I really want to tell him to fuck off, but get distracted when the waiters start bringing in the half empty platters of cheese. Carlisle uses the opportunity to impart more of his wisdom.

"It's always the same, you know? They look alike, they act alike, and they all end up the same way."

"And what way would that be?" I quip, annoyed enough to play along. Maybe he will leave me alone once he delivers his message.

Carlisle chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"I don't know, seeing as I've never seen any of them after they've thrown their common sense over board and their life away. I presume shamed and broken in some derelict house in the slums thousands of miles away, where they'll never have to face anyone who might grin at them and say, 'I told you so.' Of course, I might be wrong, who knows? My job is done, and, quite frankly, I don't give a shit about what happens to you if you're stupid enough not to give a shit yourself."

"Do you really think that I will believe a groveling, conniving scumbag like you?" I hiss back, not caring how I sound right then. Carlisle just laughs.

"I've made my bed, and princess, let me tell you, it's a damn comfortable bed to sleep in. Let me know how things work out for you, until you were dumb enough to give it up for him for free, I really thought you'd be different. You certainly did throw less of a fit than the others when I bent you over the bed and fucked your ass. Nice trick with the lube, by the way, I don't really want to consider how some of the less prepared girls hurt afterwards."

A couple of replies are right at the tip of my tongue, but I don't get a chance to utter any of them, because right then Edward's voice cuts through my indignation, coming from the hall to my right.

"Carlisle, your wife requires your presence at the table."

Carlisle has the gall to chuckle and winks at me, then bows his head and takes his leave without another word, leaving my mind riling. I carefully close my mouth, not wanting to appear like a fish caught on land. Edward slowly steps into the kitchen, his eyes taking in my without a doubt troubled expression and the glass in my hand. His face is carefully neutral, and I wonder how much of our conversation he has overheard. Probably all of it, seeing how loudly his steps echo on the marble floor, and I'm sure that I've only been upset enough not to notice that when I fled to the kitchen, but not afterwards.

"Why didn't you say anything?" is what my troubled mind eventually manages to string together.

"I think Carlisle said more than enough for the two of us," he replies dryly, his eyes scanning my face.

I really don't know what to make of that, and don't even try to hide my confusion. It slowly dawns on me that he thinks I'm just referring to the conversation happening in the kitchen just now, while I meant everything that happened before.

"Not now. At the table. Why didn't you say anything when they stared at me as if I was the Whore of Babylon?"

Edward cocks his head to the side, a light frown on his forehead.

"I thought you weren't ashamed of what you do."

That's a slap in the face, and I'm sure it's not entirely a foot in mouth moment. I doubt that Edward ever has those.

I keep staring at him for several seconds, then deliberately set my glass down as I feel twin waves of anger and shame crash through me. There's nothing taunting in his gaze, but I can't help but see his words as exactly that. Part of me even wants to start crying, but I force myself to keep it together as I inhale slowly.

"I think you were right, it was a bad idea for me to come here. Enjoy your party."

With that, I avert my gaze and walk around him and out of the room, my fingers digging into the material of my clutch to the point where I'm surprised that my nails don't break. Maybe they even do, I'm not sure I would feel the physical pain over the agony welling up in my chest.

Part of me still hopes to hear him follow me, or at least call after me, but the stark echo of my heels on the floor is the only thing that chases me out of the house.

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><p><strong>You know the drill – and this time I'm really dying to know what you think!<strong>

**I'm still on vacation, still fighting the connection of hell, but will try to get another chapter to you before the daily grind can swallow me anew!**

**Because people keep asking – the story will be about 30 chapters long, at least that's my current estimation.**


	15. Chapter 15

**My heartfelt thanks go to Cullen Confection, prassacut and chrissy1201 for their help and support. This is the last chapter posted from my vacation – starting Sunday I'll be back to finally answering questions and replying to reviews! Thank you for your patience!**

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><p>I'm already halfway down the driveway by the time I hear a car approach.<p>

I'm elated. I'm pissed off. I'm frantically wiping at the tears streaming down my cheeks. I'm happy that I haven't called a cab yet. I hate myself for hesitating to do the same.

Where I take the strength from not to look over my shoulder to check if the car is even the right one, I don't know, but I get my answer when it doesn't speed up and overtake me, but instead rolls a steady few steps behind me before it draws abreast with me. I ignore the whir of the electric window mechanism as long as I can, which isn't really long.

"Bella?"

I square my shoulders and futilely speed up my step, but I'm of course no match for the hundreds of horsepowers idling alongside me. The sane part of my brain points out that it's only a matter of minutes until my heels will slip on the gravel and I will end up in the ER rather than Edward's bed, or my own, I haven't yet decided which I'd prefer. Neither. Both. Fuck.

I stop in my tracks before I can twist my ankle, and because he's perfect like that, Edward manages to halt the car exactly where I'm standing so that he can easily crane his neck and look up at me. In the near darkness of the car and our surroundings, I can't see his face too clearly, but the look of exasperation there is unmistakable. I don't know why, but I'm kind of glad that he doesn't come charging after me, apologies already bubbling from his lips. I prefer a fight over groveling that forces me to be all docile and agreeable any day.

And I'm still coherent enough to admit that I myself am not taking myself too seriously at the moment. I would be thinking less of him if he were.

"What do you want?"

I'm trying to lend my voice a caustic tone, but the actual result sounds something between whiny and pissed off. Edward keeps staring at me for several heartbeats, before he answers.

"This is not about what I want, but about what you want. Yet if you ask me so plainly, I'd prefer you to get in the car and come home with me so that we can have a serious discussion, not something spawned by the mind of script writer of a soap opera. I'm sure I'll even find some priceless china for you to throw at the walls that you can spite James with."

I try hard to keep up what semblance of enraged indignation I can muster, but his words inadvertently force a small smile from me. Observant as he is, he sees it, answering it with a similar one. I scowl back but the damage is done, so I concede and get in, although I do it with the greatest measure of disdain rolling off me that I can manage.

The entire trip neither of us utters a single word, and the silence is as oppressive as it gets, but it does a great deal to let me cool off my heels. My mind is still in turmoil, as is my stomach, for entirely different reasons, and more than once I consider telling him to stop and let me get out, or drop me off at my place. The fact that I refrain is a concession to him coming after me in the end, but I force myself not to regard it as a gesture of his adoration for me, but sheer practicality. His date stormed out of the house after dropping a veritable bomb, he certainly had reasons aplenty to leave, not all entirely connected to his feelings for me.

The entire house is mercifully dark when we get there, including the garage. I get out of the car before Edward can come around it to hold the door for me, and stalk ahead of him to the hallway leading inside. Lights engage ahead of me so that I easily find my way out of the basement even though I haven't been down here except for a couple short trips to and from the car-port. Up at the ground floor, I leave my shoes and coat by the door, then continue on into the living room. The library is too much his domain, and the bedroom is too intimate, and of the many other rooms to choose from, the living room at least leaves me the most free space to pace.

Edward follows me without a word, barely lingering in the hall to take off his suit jacket. Assuming a slightly defensive pose with my arms crossed over my chest in the middle of the room, I wait for him to follow me, then wait some more until he's done loosening the knot of his tie and taking the damn thing off. By then my tears have long since dried up and my eyes don't feel puffy anymore, and while I'm still angry, sense has long since seeped into the cracks of my indignation.

I wish it weren't so, fits are so much easier to throw when you don't feel like banging your head against the wall.

Leaning against the back of the couch, Edward finally catches my gaze and holds it, his body language open but his face unreadable. His silence is unnerving, and I almost sigh with gratitude when he finally breaks it.

"In the apt words of our generation, what the fuck?"

A certain measure of guilt rears its ugly head at his words, years of self-indoctrination warring with my need to remain angry and stand my ground.

"What, are you pissed off that I ruined your reputation or something?"

He blinks, then frowns, genuine incredulity plain on his face.

"I don't know of any reputation I have that you could even scratch, let alone ruin. And this isn't about me."

His words confuse me, and if there's one thing I don't need, it's even more chaos inside my head.

"What else do you mean with your succinct opening words then?"

He shrugs.

"I'm wondering when the sensible, strong woman I so admire ran off and left a bawling, insecure little girl behind."

That stings, even though his words are truer than I want to admit. I hold his gaze briefly, trying not to back down, but what I probably accomplish is to look even more petulant than before. It's not like I need any outside help to demote myself, as it is.

Taking a deep breath, I look away, feeling tension drain from me along with what's left of my pride. He waits patiently for me to reply, or do something, and even though I'm still torn inside what to make of him, I appreciate his patience.

"If I happen to find her again, I'll tell her to get the fuck behind the driver's seat as soon as possible," I offer when everything besides humor fails me. Glancing up, I catch a glimpse of the smallest of smiles crossing his features, before we're staring at each other again.

"Sounds like a smart thing to do."

"The first smart thing I've done all evening, you mean?"

Instead of letting me bait him, Edward sighs, and I hate how much he sounds like a parent trying to stay calm with a petulant child.

"What I mean is what I've said, no implications otherwise. If you are waiting for me to blame you for what happened, which ever part of it, or shout irrationally, you can get your things and go, because that won't happen."

For a minute I'm tempted to do just that, but the more he forces me to think clearly, the more my anger simmers down to a low grumble at the bottom of my mind, rather than the indignation fueled flames of before. He's forcing me to think, and think rationally at that, and if there ever was a reason why I felt like I admired him, that's right behind it.

Silence stretches, turning uncomfortable again, but as it helps me clear my head further, I wait until I'm sure what to say next.

"I have nothing to say to my defense. I'm turning into a stupid, naïve, completely clueless imbecile of late, and I'm sorry you got dragged into the consequences thereof."

He weighs his answer for a while before he gives it.

"All I ever ask of you is your honesty. There's no need for you to apologize to me." I bite my lip, the temptation to goad him so strong it hurts me to remain silent, and after a couple of seconds he adds, "Me, or anyone else for that matter, as far as I'm concerned."

"Not even Esme? I pretty much ruined her party."

"Not a good party without a good scandal. You probably pushed it up into her favorite five of the year."

"You really think she'll see it with so much humor?"

He gives a noncommittal grunt.

"Do you care?"

"Don't you? She's pretty much your mentor and friend."

"She's a rich, old hag who hungers for attention and gossip above all else. We get along well because she has a sharp mind that she never tries to hide, and her candid evilness is easier to bear than the gushing so many people think is appropriate when dealing with me. But that's it. If she decides to be pissed at me because you're honest, I don't give a shit about it."

He sounds completely convinced of his words. I don't know which option is scarier, that he is sincere, or that he's so good a liar that I can't tell. I want to ask him which one it is, although I know that chances are I won't get an honest answer, but then close my mouth again as I consider the implications.

"You're not pissed at me for what I said." A statement, not a question.

"I'm not."

"And you don't care what the people think about me or you, based on what my unfortunate blurt means for us?"

He takes a little more time to consider his answer.

"I'm not too fond of them being stupid enough to discount you because of your chosen profession, but it's not like they formed a pitch fork carrying mob and chased you out of town. I don't care at all what they think about me."

"Why not?"

He laughs, and it's a cold sound.

"Why should I give a shit what people I barely know and like even less think of me, based on the company I keep? If that's what they build their view of me on, then I can't help them anyway. But again, this is not about me, it's about you. Why do you care?"

"How can I not care?" I rile. I'm happy for him if his blasé attitude is true, but it's not one I share.

"Easily?" he ventures a guess.

I take a deep breath, then force it out slowly as not to get in his face.

"That's not how I work."

He blinks, then cocks his head to the side.

"This can't be the first time a similar admission was met with similar results."

I shrug, slightly uncomfortable – not because of that actually happening, but because of my own reaction tonight.

"That was different."

"How so?"

"They didn't judge _me_."

I'm not sure if my emphasis really translates well into words, and he regards me levelly as if I've said something stupid just now.

"I hate to break it to you, but whenever anyone calls you a filthy whore, they judge you. For them, there's no you and _you_," he mimics my intonation.

His words don't sit well with me, and for once I give in to the urge to make him see my point.

"Trust me, I know. I've been called worse to my face, I've been spit at and dragged by my hair across rooms, that was actually by the wife of a client I haven't even fucked myself. I am well aware of the fact that people don't react favorably to the revelation of what I do for a living. But I beg to differ, they never judge me, the entirety of who I am, because they never actually get to see or meet her."

"And tonight was different why?"

"Because tonight I wasn't there as Bella the Whore, but Bella, Edward's girlfriend, and I was stupid enough to delude myself that that made a difference and I could let my fucking defenses down!"

I'm screaming by the time I'm done, although I'm sure that he knows it's not at him. I must be looking like a madwoman, wide eyed and not making much sense, but he keeps looking at me calmly, waiting for me to either run out of steam or reach some kind of conclusion.

For once, that actually happens, and I have to look away from his calm gaze then. Starting to pace seems like a good idea, and I'm on my third round from the table to the kitchen door before my temper drops enough to let me utter my next sentence.

"Shit, I'm so bad at this girlfriend thing!"

Edward remains silent, wise man that he is, even when I send him a peevish glance.

"Aren't you going to say something to that?"

"Are you going to hit me if I agree with you?"

Despite my frustration, I can't keep from smiling.

"I might."

"Kinky." He botches a rather bad imitation of a roar, before turning serious again. "I'd never blame you for that as long as you eventually see reason."

"For hitting you?" I try for some levity, but this time he doesn't let me get away with lame jokes.

"For acting like a stupid bitch."

Even though it might be true, that still hurts, and I don't even try to hide that from him. He doesn't react for a moment, but then gets up and crosses the distance between us, catching my chin in his hand before he leans down and kisses me gently. Just his lips pressing against mine, no tongue, but it's a very powerful gesture.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said that, even if it's true."

I swallow, then nod to acknowledge his apology.

"You're not exactly a prime example of perfect boyfriend material, either."

"I know," he concedes without hesitation.

"Guess that means we're a perfect fit?"

"At least we don't make anyone else but each other miserable."

We share a smile, and I feel incredibly lonely when he lets go of me and steps away. I hunch my shoulders and wrap my arms around myself, then close my eyes and try to sort out my jumbled thoughts. Edward, in the meantime, resumes talking.

"You should know by now that I value honesty in people above all else. I don't mind you making mistakes, as long as you see them yourself and don't try to make anyone else responsible for them. And for the sake of honesty, I have to admit that I thought twice about running after you tonight because I really didn't like those new sides of you."

"Yeah, well, I don't like them one bit, either," I huff, then force myself to swallow my indignation. "They just got under my skin. I'm not used to anyone getting to me like that, and I reacted badly. I'm human, of course I bleed when someone hits me hard enough."

He considers my words, as if they were something new to him.

"I get that. But again, why do you care? You'll probably never see any of them again, Esme and Carlisle being a probable exception. Do you hunger that much for the approval of complete strangers?"

"I don't hunger for anyone's approval!" I yap back.

"Liar."

"How can you say that?"

I know that the fact that his words sting so much speaks of their truth, but it's one kind of truth I don't want to acknowledge.

"What else is it, if not that? You're too good to lie, but you can't take it when people let their prejudice run free. No one but yourself is responsible for what happened tonight."

"I know!"

"And?"

"And what?"

I feel like we're running in circles, and that only makes things worse somehow. Edward keeps regarding me patiently, obviously waiting for me to reach my conclusion on my own, and somehow that makes my anger rekindle.

"And nothing! I'm so sick of all that shit!"

He doesn't reply, but he doesn't need to, my own words act as the catalyst to push the floodgates to my soul open.

"I'm so sick of people judging me! I'm so sick of having to wall myself inside a maze of half-truths and conviction to be able to remain proud and able to look at myself in the mirror every damn day! They are all a fucking bunch of hypocrites! I wouldn't have a job if not for all the married men who actively seek my company, I've never in my entire life propositioned anybody, and I don't just give it up for any random dude with a fifty too much in his wallet! And how is what I do worse than what millions of women do without taking money for it? I at least don't do it for social advancement, I don't ruin marriages, I don't gloat at any wife for maybe having other interests than to let her horny, midlife crisis ridden husband bang her three times a day just because he has to feel twenty all over again! I'm honest about the services I provide, and I love my job, but I sometimes hate it so much that I wish I could just quit!"

He listens to my diatribe without moving a muscle, his eyes the only expressive part about his face, and they don't tell me anything. My rage fueled panting is loud in the otherwise silent room, until he speaks.

"What's keeping you from it?"

In my indignation I've kind of lost my train of thought, and I'm having a hard time understanding what he's referring to.

"What?"

"What's keeping you from quitting your job? If you hate it, I mean. You have a higher education than half the people in this country, and I'm sure a hefty sum squared away to tidy you over a couple of months until you've settled into doing something else, what keeps you from taking that leap?"

The nasty voice at the back of my head is fast to supply the ever helpful, 'And here we go' I've been waiting on for months, but the fact that he doesn't sound at all like this is something he wants me to do, but simply hypothetical reasoning, deserves an honest answer from me.

"Complacency?"

Edward narrows his eyes.

"If your only answer to a question is a question in turn, you should spend a little more time thinking about the issue. Just something I've learned over the years."

"You make it sound so easy," I accuse.

"That wasn't my intention. I know that those are always the hardest questions to find a good answer to."

Silence falls as I consider the subject some more, but that doesn't change anything.

"I don't know," I finally admit. "I've never really asked myself that question. I've never seriously wanted to quit being an escort."

"Never? You must have a contingency plan for the possibility that you're forced to quit for one reason or another. Age, health, something like that."

I shrug.

"Not really. Before thirty, age doesn't become an issue, for some not even before forty, and like a smoker knows he'll never develop lung cancer, the risk that I contract something nasty enough to force me to quit is zero, naturally."

He smirks briefly at my sarcastic tone.

"What about accidents? Or something not related to STDs, like catching the flu. I can't imagine you'd want to work with snot clogging up your nose too much for you to still be able to suck cock and breathe properly."

"I've been lucky so far, and I get stir crazy at home the moment I'm well enough to leave the bed. Ask Rose, I've tried on more than one occasion to haggle with her about offering clients discounts just to let me work again."

"Has anyone ever accepted that?" he wants to know, his curiosity piqued.

"She never let me. Rose believes in keeping her girls safe, even from themselves."

"Wise woman," Edward grunts, then returns back on track. "So you've never really thought about quitting."

"I've never had a reason to."

"And has that changed now?"

I can't help but feel like he's fishing for compliments there, but I can't fault him that. I take my time answering, weighing my options.

"I don't know." He opens his mouth, and I know that he wants to accuse me of lying again, but this time I'm faster. "I really don't know. Maybe I'm a cold hearted bitch, unworthy of your attention, but the fact that you told me that you love me doesn't make me want to throw everything I know away and quit the moment the words left your lips."

"And I would never have asked that of you. I hope you know that?"

"That's why we're even having this conversation. I couldn't stand to be any man's kept woman."

"I'd never offer to do that."

I know it's hypocritical of me, but his answer hurts nevertheless.

"No? Not at all?"

I hate that I can't keep a measure of pain and disappointment out of my voice and after a moment of irritation, Edward shakes his head.

"No. But I will support you in whatever you want to do with your life."

That's too bland an answer not to react to it.

"And, hypothetically, of course, if I wanted to become your wife and have a bunch of kids with you, how would you support me there if you won't support me staying at home to raise them?"

"I never said that," he interjects. "Raising children takes a lot of time and energy, and let's be realistic, I will never work less than sixty hours a week, any children we'd have would be raised mostly by you alone, not us together in equal parts. Of course I would provide for whatever you'd need or could even wish for, but what I wouldn't do is give you unlimited access to all of my money just for looking pretty and letting me bend you over my desk twice a week. I respect you too much for that, and if I'm not completely wrong, we decided to stop doing exactly that just last weekend. Minus the unlimited funds, but I honestly have to admit that I would have paid almost any amount you'd named, just to keep you coming back to me."

I nod, then allow myself a small laugh.

"Does that talk about raising our children freak you out as much as it does me?"

"You have no idea," he replies, also mirroring my mirth. "But, as far as I see it, we're on highly hypothetical ground the entire time of this conversation?"

"Of course."

The fact that we both fall silent then is proof that we know that's not entirely true, but to humor him I pick up the thread again.

"What else do you mean with you'd support me, if not buy me whatever I'd want in exchange for my pleasant company?"

"Moral support, for one. Financial, if you need it, for another, if I see the merit of it, but, quite frankly, you don't strike me as the kind of woman who'd ask if she could pay for something herself. Influence, too. I know people, and the kind of money my company makes means still more people would give a lot to make me 'owe them one', so to say. Security, also. I won't break up with you just because you start a business and end up burning a couple hundred thousands, and then realize it wasn't your thing. I want to make you happy, Bella, and I will do whatever it takes to make that happen, except reducing you to being my own, personal whore without all the freedom and independence you now have."

It's hard not to consider an offer like that, and while I might be developing a hang for being stupid of late, I'm not that stupid to ignore it – or not to look that gift horse in the mouth.

"But, of course, you'd be a very happy man if I quit being an escort."

I give him a lot of credit for taking his time answering to that.

"I'm only human, of course there's a part of me that would welcome that, a lot. But as I keep telling you, I met you in your capacity as an escort, I value you, all there is of you, more than my own caveman instincts, and I don't think less of you because of what you do. I can't promise you that, with time, my opinion won't change, but right now, as things are between us, I would never ask you to give up your job."

"But?"

"No buts," he explains with conviction. "Tonight, if anything, proved again how much more than any of your clients I have of you. I'm sorry that that fact led to you being vulnerable and insecure, but I'm sure that given some time and practice, you will learn to find a balance, and so will I. I respect you no matter what."

I nod, then resume pacing, this time to give my brain some time to think, not because I have to let off steam. Edward's eyes follow my progress across the room steadily, but he doesn't say anything further.

Like before, Rose's words from my last visit reverberate through my mind, and fuel my doubt. Edward said he loves me, and I don't dispute that he thinks he does, but we've only known each other for a couple of weeks, and off the top of my head I can't even name his favorite color and food, I'm well aware of the fact that outside of the bedroom we're still virtual strangers. I also know that, even if he's honest and his love is true, I don't trust my own feelings for him. I don't doubt them, but they come with a lot of issues I've never had to deal with, and there's no guarantee that I won't break, or change my mind, and while I might be a proud woman, I'm not too proud to run when things get too confusing for me.

Then, of course, there are a lot of reasons to make the consideration of quitting interesting even without factoring Edward into the equation. Not all of my appointments are pleasant, and I don't always enjoy myself entirely even when they are, as my recent rut with Zack has proven. The past days in general have been littered with moments where doubt has slowly wormed its way inside my previously impregnable armor, and while I won't let that change my mind, the temptation to consider what else there is for me besides spreading my legs for money is strong.

I wouldn't quit for Edward, that much I'm sure of. But I might quit for myself.

I'm not ashamed of being a whore, even when the reactions of random people to learning that fact about me hurt. It didn't hurt enough to make me reconsider my choice, but it's another item on a list that keeps growing, a list in favor of considering doing something else with my life.

I can't be an escort forever, and I have to admit that it's gotten increasingly harder to slip into the right mind space the more I let my guard down around Edward. Two weeks ago I would likely have laughed into their faces at pretending to be scandalized about my profession, today I hurt, and the question remains, what will that do to me in a month from now if things progress steadily? That thought scares me, but it doesn't hold as much power over me as one other fact.

Being the woman my clients desire used to be fun, regardless of how satisfying the actual sexual act turned out to be - sure, part of the reason I make the kind of money that I do is because I've learned to excel at that. It has always been easy to pick up the clues and mold myself into what others want me to be, including my parents, teachers, school friends, and college co-eds. I've done this since I've been old enough to realize that if I smile and babble the phrases mommy wants to hear of me, I get some candy. But now, for the first time in my life, I've met a man who, while plainly responding in the same way as everyone else, is intelligent enough to see through my game and keeps pestering me until I drop the act, and he still loves the woman underneath all the layers. I want to be that woman – and I can't be her if I have to continue to pull up the layers again to be whoever my clients want me to be.

The thing is, I simply don't know if I have the strength it takes to be her, and if I will still like living her life once the fantasy that is spinning out of control inside my head has settled into the stark reality I know will come crashing in eventually.

But is there really any harm in trying? I don't think so.

Something must have given away the fact that I've reached some kind of conclusion, because Edward steps into my way before I can stop pacing myself. I look at him for another couple of seconds, then take a deep breath.

"If I quit – and I'm not saying that I will, but if I do – I don't know what else to do with my life."

"I'm sure we'll find something," he offers, uncharacteristically vague for him.

"I won't throw everything I know away for something as uncertain as that."

He purses his lips, then rubs his chin.

"Has there never been anything you wanted to do but couldn't, for whatever reason? I mean, we all give up hopes and dreams to pursue more sensible careers in the end. I can't imagine that being an escort was your esteemed path to go."

"I've always wanted to paint." My answer seems to surprise him, and I shrug. "There's this program at the Arts Department of the University, in cooperation with the museums. Very pricey, but the real program is that it has a killer curriculum, requiring set times of presence each day, with even more time for assignments and homework. I thought about applying a couple of times already, but even if I would have been admitted, which I doubt, I could never have cleared my schedule enough for that."

Edward takes on a pensive expression.

"Which museums?"

"Does that matter?"

"My philanthropic exploits have led me to offer very generous donations to a couple of art related institutions, and they so love to show their gratitude in turn. I'm sure that a couple of phone calls would get you admitted instantly."

I would be lying if that surprised me.

"It's a very exclusive program. Only twenty spots, and there's always a long backlist."

"I'm sure they'll be happy to open a twenty-first one, with the right kind of persuasion. At worst, another donation will take care of that, and any tuition fees."

"I won't let you pay for that course."

He inclines his head.

"Very well, then I'll just make sure you get in."

I'm a little stunned, and my stomach is fluttering with excitement.

"It's really that easy?"

Edward shrugs, his mouth twisting into a wry grin.

"When you've reached the point in life where I am now, yes. I can pretty much get whatever money can buy, if I want it. Guess the irony about that is that what I really want is the woman who won't even let me pay for her painting course?"

"It's not just any painting course, it's -,"

"I don't give a shit," he interrupts me, then pulls me close to kiss me hungrily. I let him, for a moment, but then pull away, narrowing my eyes at him.

"I'm not quitting for you. I'm not quitting at all. I'm just taking a break."

"Semantics," he grunts and tries to capture my lips with his again, but I quickly extract myself from his grasp.

"Not for me."

He sighs and rubs his eyes, then looks at me again.

"I did not mean to ignore the nature of the matter, or the significance it has for you. What I want is for you to be happy, and to do something you enjoy doing. Whatever that is. Take the break, see how you do, how you feel about starting a new life. Maybe painting will be it. Or if you want to stay with art, I'm sure there are college courses aplenty to take, and I'd be happy to get you in contact with the right people if you want to get involved with curating art expositions. Or something entirely different, like life coaching, or writing self-help books for bored housewives. The sky's the limit, as long as what you do is making you happy."

It is too good to be true, and while my heart wants to soar and makes me want to throw myself around his neck, I've been around too long to blindly take those next steps, disregarding what happened before.

"Are you promising me all that to make me forget that you pretty much ignored me while I fed myself to the wolves?"

He quiets down at my slightly accusing tone, but doesn't deny it.

"I have mentioned before that I love your intelligence, right?"

"Edward, don't deflect my answer, please?"

"Would it work, if I were trying to do that?"

I think about it for a while.

"Somewhat. I'm honest enough to admit that I can be bought. Doesn't mean I just forget what happened."

He lets out his breath slowly, crossing his arms over his chest in the same defensive kind I've been using the very same posture not so long ago.

"Yes, I ignored you. I had my reasons. One, I did have a couple of things to discuss with Esme, and doing it at the dinner table where less people can intrude was easier than during mingling afterwards. Two, you are a bright, confident woman, I trust that you don't need me to blindly agree and support every single thing you say and hang on your very word. Could I have reacted better? Probably, but I still think that you appreciate my honesty more than dragging you out of the holes you dig for yourself. Like you said before, I'm not every mother's prime candidate for son-in-law material; I'm used to holding people to their promises, and I'm used to letting them do what they want to do, not minding the consequences. I'd never be mad at you for picking a fight with someone, but at the same time I didn't feel like it was my place to come riding to your defense for a fall-out that you must have predicted."

His somewhat cold, calculating way disturbs me a little, but it fits perfectly in line with the way I know him to be.

"You could have come to check on me sooner."

"I was there when you were ready to listen to me, but you chose to storm out instead."

"You could have followed me!"

"If I remember correctly, I did follow you. It still takes a little time to say my good-byes and hunt down the valet to get my car."

I know I'm on the verge of irrationality again, and this time it's weariness that holds me back from succumbing to it. I leave it at a short nod, not entirely happy about his conclusion, but somewhat mollified. It's a stupid situation, and we're both mature enough to accept the blame and share it in equal parts, and after a little brooding I can admit to myself that, although not the most conventional outcome, I'm happy with it. The kind of man who would have charged after me, rambling apologies while he socked anyone looking weirdly at me is not the kind of man to respect what I do, and who I am. Edward might not be a modern day Prince Charming, but his patience with me makes more than up for his obvious lack of compassion.

"Okay."

He raises his eyebrows.

"Does that mean we're done discussing this?"

"I guess."

The turmoil of emotions has left me drained, and I feel as physically tired as I am emotionally so.

"Let's go to bed then, shall we?" he holds out his hand to me, and I hesitate a moment before I take it. He notices, a light frown coming to his forehead. "What's that all about?"

His touch is warm and gentle, and my entire body yearns for that warmth, but at the same time there's a part of me that still feels a little resentful. Considering my recent paranoia, and utter incapability of acting like a grown-up, I decide to ignore it, and instead offer him a small smile.

"Nothing. Just tired."

He smiles in return, then leads me upstairs, and of course we don't go to bed right away, at least not for sleeping. I love the way he touches me, and the way my touch makes him moan in turn, but this time, the nagging voice at the back of my mind won't just shut up. I remain awake long after he has fallen asleep, his arm still draped over my middle, his body continuing to warm mine and lull me into sleep, if I was capable thereof. The voice sounds suspiciously like Carlisle's, but even shouting at it inside my head doesn't make it shut up.

Isn't love supposed to make us blind? In my case, all it does is make me paranoid that, somehow, things are not quite as they seem, but I'm utterly incapable of saying what has me on edge even when I should be as happy as they get.

Maybe I'm just having cold feet, because tomorrow, after a couple of phone calls, my life as I know it will end, and embarking on something new is always scary. But also oh so exciting.

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><p><strong>I'd love to know what you think! <strong>**I hope you enjoyed the update, ****and a huge thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter!**

**If you're on facebook, you can find me there!**** (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**


	16. Chapter 16

**My heartfelt thanks go to Cullen Confection, prassacut and chrissy1201 for their help and support. **

**Sorry for skipping one update, but two exams a week kept me from writing it in time! **

**I'd also like to tell all of you who keep reviewing so diligently that you made this week so much better and easier to tough out! Thank you!**

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><p>"You call this a peaceful expression of joy? This looks as if Bambi stumbled into a slaughterhouse!"<p>

"What? No! I mean, you have to see -,"

"But I don't! Do you want me to call your therapist? Because this thing right here, could lead to a straightjacket."

"But I did exactly what you told me to do!"

"I see that."

A contemptuous snort and the blond whirlwind touches down on her next victim. My amusement dims a bit because her next victim am I, but I do my best to keep a straight face as Jane scrutinizes the whirlwind of color on my canvas. Her eyes zoom to my face, looking as bright and unforgiving as ever.

"What's this?" She gestures at the painting at large.

"My peaceful expression of joy."

Thin lips draw into a pout, then even out into a compressed line while her eyes narrow.

"Are you simply echoing what I said to the last, oh, twelve people?"

It gets considerably hard not to laugh.

"Obviously, I am."

Her steely gaze remains dead center on me, not wavering, nor portraying anything but her disdain. It takes a lot more to faze me, so I hold her gaze levelly waiting for her, without a doubt, scathing verdict. Instead, she turns back to studying the canvas, then gives a curt nod.

"Good for you. At least the joy part you got right."

She goes on to the next aisle, her frown already back in place.

I really like Jane. She is like the unapologetic bitch of art. Her explanations are precise but all there is needed, and she says it as she sees it. She never just tells us what to do, she describes it, then whips around to her own canvas, and within minutes turns the minimalistic palette of colors into exactly what she has been talking about, before she sets us to do the same with ours.

Naturally, our attempts are usually not fit to compare to hers, particularly on the first day, but she as keeps explaining diligently, that isn't the point of the exercise in the first place. Teaching expressionistic art, her credo is all 'feel, now do', and the closer someone gets to blindly re-creating what she puts up, the more pissed she gets. Half of the women in the course, and a couple of men, too, she has already reduced to tears in her two days of teaching the class. I love her more for every new one.

Soon she is done dispensing hard criticism, in two cases asking people to please leave the room because she is done with them, before she circles back to the front, and whips out a fresh canvas, silently prompting us to do the same.

Twenty minutes later, she is again scrutinizing my 'work', for lack of a better word. I study her studying my painting instead of concentrating on the splashes of green and blue. Maybe it's practice, but for me, she is easy to read. Her goal is to force us to break conventions, and to just let go – while most of the attendees still cling to reproducing whatever she puts on her canvas to start with. She never leaves a harsh word about even the worst of color and shape combinations, as long as it, in any way, expresses something unique. Why some can't understand that the more they fawn over her, the more pissed she gets, is a miracle to me.

This time I only get a curt nod, no words, but I don't mind, the fact that she doesn't hate it is praise enough for me. Not that I need her praise, I'm having too much fun to let anything rain on my parade, but it's good to know that my attempt to follow her non-directions is working well. Jane is about to move on but then stops, tapping her chin with a paint stained finger twice.

"I'm going to meet a couple of friends of mine for drinks later tonight, do you want to join us?"

Her question baffles me, and I see a few heads turn in our direction, envious looks falling on me. For a moment, I want to grasp for the most obvious, to me at least, reasoning – that she's coming on to me – but as far as I can tell it's an offer based on something other than my physical appearance. Maybe it's even genuine goodwill, I can't tell. I'm not used to considering that. Not answering her would be rude, and there's really only one answer I come up with.

"Sure, I'd love to."

"Good." She nods again, then steps away, her perpetual frown snapping into place as she narrows her eyes at the next canvas to look at.

Our lesson is over after she is done commenting on everyone's paintings, and a promise that she will be 'a lot harsher' tomorrow. A woman to my left pales, another cringes. I don't really understand their reactions. Jane might be a prime example for eccentric, aloof artist, but in the end it is her honesty that seems to put people off, and what are we here for other than our teacher's honest opinion?

Everyone else is leaving the room but I'm hanging back after ditching the outer layer of my clothes, now forever stained in a rainbow of colors, waiting for directions from her. She finishes talking to the last remaining other course participant, then comes over to me, once again smiling.

"Ready for a night of artsy discussion and talking bullshit as if any of us is really that much better than the people we bash?"

"Just lead the way, and I'll follow."

I text Edward while we are waiting for a cab, letting him know that my day was great, and I'm off for a couple of drinks. He replies almost immediately, wishing me fun. I'm already about to put my phone away when another message arrives, reading, 'Want to come over afterwards?' I find myself grinning stupidly at my phone as I type in a quick, of course affirmative reply, before I turn to Jane. I get the feeling that she has been studying me intently the entire time, and her smile holds a certain amount of belligerence. I shrug, leaving it that. She doesn't ask, I don't clarify. I'm really starting to like her.

The cab arrives, we get in, and she gives the driver the name of one of the more exclusive clubs in town. I've been there a couple of times, but most of my clients enjoy more reclusive locations for dinner, and they very rarely just 'want to hang out', either.

"How short exactly is the leash he's holding you on? Are you allowed to spend the night partying with some verbose bitch, or does your sugar daddy expect his little girl to be ready to be tucked in by 10 P.M.?"

I snort at her question, and answer it with a toothy smile.

"I don't have a sugar daddy, but if I had one, I wouldn't stand by and heel, either."

Her eyes narrow, and she looks at me as if I'm some kind of puzzle she has to resolve.

"Don't get me wrong, but I have to call bullshit on that. I've been teaching this class for three years now, and there always have been the same number of spots. Suddenly there's one more, mid-class no less, that does speak a rather plain language."

I shrug.

"Someone made a couple of calls for me, yes, but I'm paying for everything myself. No strings attached."

The concept seems alien to her.

"Why? To have that much weight to set the change in motion means whoever's doing you a favor has money, lots of money. Why not let him pay the considerably smaller tuition fee, too?"

"I don't like others to pay for me when I can afford it myself."

I can't hide a grin at the irony of that statement, but it's true. Jane still seems confused.

"So you have money, but you needed someone else to squeeze you in. Peculiar. But I like it. Different is interesting, and I can't tell you how bored I am of working with the ever same trust fund babies and trophy wives day in, day out."

"Why don't you do something else then, if you hate that so much?"

Now it's her time to shrug.

"I didn't say I hate it, on the contrary. But it's what I've gotten used to, it's what pays the bills. I don't have to fret whether my own work can support me when I can just cash in regular paychecks. Complacency, if you will."

It doesn't escape me how close her answer is to what I told Edward last weekend when he asked me what was keeping me from quitting my job. Not so much her actual words, but the spirit behind them. No wonder I feel so close to her already, even the way she is looking at me now, waiting to be judged, but not giving a shit about what I might say, reminds me of myself. Or of myself before I turned into an irrational brat with the attention span of a three year old when it comes to checking my phone for messages.

"There are worse things in life than that," I offer and after a moment she nods.

"True. I could be a high school arts teacher." We both laugh at that, but she turns serious before long. "Still, you're young, apparently have enough dough not to work a regular job, why take this class? No offense, you have some talent there, but I don't see you as the driven maniac I sometimes encounter in my students."

"I'm pretty much taking a break," I reply, a little evasive. "I've always wanted to paint, and this seems like a good time to try it. I don't expect to make money with it, but it's an interesting process."

"Whatever rocks your boat, princess," Jane snorts. Before I can reply we've reached our destination, and I follow her out of the cab and into the club, our discussion apparently concluded.

Jane's friends turn out to be a rather mismatched bunch of artists and those who appreciate art, or simply like to hang out with those who do. Everyone is at least moderately friendly, if not outright welcoming, but that changes eventually once I get a chance to contribute a couple of smart remarks to their conversation. While I don't feel like I outright belong in their midst, they are interesting to talk to, and I find myself enjoying our time together a lot. They are definitely different from what I'm used to from the social events my clients have taken me to, and for once not having to work at making someone else shine is relaxing, too.

Before long I've downed by third beer, and it's past midnight when I think about checking my phone again.

There are a couple of unread text messages, and three missed calls, all from Edward. Ouch.

I quickly excuse myself from the others and walk outside onto the terrace at the upper floor of the building, letting the cool night air clear my head a bit before I scroll through the texts. Guilt wells up in me when I read that Edward has been waiting for my reply for hours now, and has apparently given up on hearing from me half an hour ago.

I know he has to get up early, but still dial his phone right away. If he doesn't want to be woken up, I think he would have shut it off. He picks up just before I give up, making my pulse spike for a second.

"Bella?" He sounds sleepy, his voice low and husky, and I instantly feel bad for having woke him up.

"I'm so sorry I didn't call earlier, I totally lost track of time."

His silence is making my guilt surge further, but when he answers, he just sounds sleepy, not angry.

"It's okay, I figured you're having a good time." A brief pause, then he adds, "Wanna come over? Now that you've woke me up we might as well use that opportunity."

I'm surprised at myself when guilt almost immediately turns to annoyance at his words, but force myself to reply with a neutral tone.

"Two bootie calls in under a week, someone sounds desperate."

This time his pause sounds more deliberate, and I wonder if he's rubbing his eyes to clear his head from sleep.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks slowly, the open disbelief in his voice making me feel bad for having been so harsh.

"No, of course not, but -," I break off and gnaw on my lip for a moment, trying to come up with an explanation that doesn't make me sound like the insecure girl that I'm turning into at times.

"But what?"

In this moment, I hate him for sounding so composed even though it has barely been a minute since I woke him up.

"But nothing."

"Evasion never solved any problem, you know," he chides gently, then sighs. "Look, it's late and I have to get up early, if you want to come over to spend the night, I would love to fall asleep next to you, with or without sex. If it bothers you that thinking about you gives me a boner, I can jerk off before you get here, but I'm not making any promises that will help much."

I close my eyes for a moment, frustration at myself making me want to scream. A little more composed I answer him then.

"No, that won't be necessary. And yes, I'll come over, if you don't mind staying up a little longer."

"Of course I don't." I hear him smile into the phone, and that makes me feel even worse. "See you in a few."

"Yeah," I offer lamely, then shut the phone off before I can embarrass myself any further.

Saying good-bye to Jane and her friends doesn't take long, even if they all seem disappointed that I'm leaving already, and I have to promise them that it won't be the last they've seen of me. Hailing a cab, I'm on my way to Edward in under ten minutes from the end of our phone call.

I'm not surprised that Edward opens the door for me before I get there – although I haven't seen the screens yet, I'm sure the gate is under constant video surveillance, it can't have been hard to get the moment right to waylay me. He's only wearing pajama bottoms and his hair is tousled from sleep, but that doesn't take away from the visceral attraction my body immediately wants to respond to. I force myself to answer his smile with one of mine, letting him pull me close and kiss me. It's a slow kiss, warm and gentle, utterly lacking the heat he usually greets me with. I feel my stomach contract in return, and can't help but fidget for a moment when he lets go of me again.

"Why don't we go upstairs? To talk," he clarifies, his smile turning wry. "I somehow got the impression that we need to do that from our phone call."

I incline my head in silent accord, then follow him after leaving my coat and heels in the foyer. His demeanor makes me feel even more like a child, and I decide that it's probably a good idea to stop avoiding topics that keep haunting me. I can't even say why I've been trying to ignore this, probably because I hate admitting that, unlike him, I can't keep my cool all the time. This entire relationship thing is a lot more stressful than I have anticipated.

Once in his bedroom, Edward sits down at the foot of the bed, never minding the rumpled side of his bed. I consider undressing, but then decide against it, my pants and blouse feel like dearly needed armor to me right now.

"Why don't you just tell me what's bothering you so much?"

I sigh, looking away, then force myself to find his gaze and keep it.

"Feel free to accuse me of acting like a childish nitwit again, but I don't particularly like you just wanting to see me to fuck me. It makes me feel like a whore, and not in a good way. I'm having a hard enough time as it is, with trying to not act with you as if you were still my client, but your behavior isn't helping that."

He blinks, looking a little like an owl, before he replies.

"Seriously?"

I'm a little put off by his dry tone, and when he sees my reaction his features smooth out for a moment before a light frown appears on his forehead.

"Bella, I'm sorry if you saw it like that, that was never my intention. And I didn't know you struggled with trying to change your behavior."

I don't know if I should take that as a compliment, because on the one hand it is – I take pride in not wearing my heart on my sleeve all the time – but on the other, it makes me wonder if I've been slipping up more than I've noticed myself.

"It's okay. And 'struggled' is probably too strong a word. I'm just trying not to unconsciously fall into habits that have become my second nature. At least not with you."

He nods, but keeps on frowning.

"Is that why you were surprised when I wasn't angry with you when you woke me up? Some kind of anticipatory obedience, like the moment I suggest something you have to drop everything else and come to me?"

Phrased like that, my reaction makes me feel even worse.

"Maybe?" I hedge. That fact that he seems sad and a bit frustrated makes me love him even more. "I'll try to do better next time, it's just so hard to brush off years of relying on that very demeanor to my job."

"Obviously it is," he murmurs, then holds out his hand to me. "C'mere."

The colloquialism makes me smile, and after a moment's hesitation, I cross the distance between us and crawl onto his lap so that I'm straddling him. His hands run up my thighs slowly, while he cranes his neck to place a soft kiss onto my chin.

"I'm happy you had a good time, and I'm sorry that my texts inadvertently made you feel bad. I guess I simply expected you to ignore them if you changed your mind about wanting to come spend the night with me."

"As simple as that?" I can't believe that a man as unused to rejection as he is can take something like this in stride.

"Maybe not entirely," he admits, offering me a small smile. "I will freely admit that I was kind of jealous of the people you were having such a good time with, but I'd never be cross or angry with you for hanging out with friends."

"They are not really my friends, more like my instructor's friends," I explain, then pause when what he just said sinks in. "Wait, you don't get jealous at guys I fuck for a living, but the ugly, green-eyed monster is rearing its head when I go for drinks with random people I just met?"

Edward shrugs, nonplussed.

"And?"

"That doesn't make any sense!"

His eyes narrow at my outcry.

"It makes perfect sense, at least to me."

"Naturally."

He huffs playfully at my teasing, then turns serious again.

"I know that with your clients, you play a role, and that's that. You are what you think they want you to be, that's how I got to meet you after all. But with me, and presumably with the people who don't pay for your company, you are more yourself, and it's that side of you I can't get enough of, the real you. I fell for her when I met her, peeking through the cracks in your professional demeanor, and it's her I feel less inclined to share. And that sounds extremely idiotic, but I hope you see what I mean? Plain and simple, I missed you."

His words make me smile, and I lean into him to kiss him, just as slowly and gently as downstairs before. He doesn't deepen the kiss, obviously conceding control to me, and I freely admit, I love that side of him, as well. When I pull away he raises his brow, still waiting for an answer from me.

"Yes, I see. And I missed you, too. I always miss you when I'm not around you."

For a moment, I want to hit my head for saying that, but his gentle smile lifts the beginning unease right off my shoulders.

"Glad to hear that, makes me feel less conscious about feeling the same way about you."

We kiss again, and this time I wouldn't have minded him upping the pace a little, but at the same time relish that he doesn't. Typical woman, I can never quite decide what I really want. That thought makes me laugh against his lip, yielding another questioning look from him.

"So, just to be sure, when you called me last week to come over to your office, you didn't do that out of lust driven, yet malicious intent, to drive home your victory over me and no longer having to pay for my services?"

He snorts, that crooked grin of his returning.

"Ah, I was wondering already when you would pick up Carlisle's bullshitting, since you completely dodged that topic when we got home from the party."

"Am I that obvious?"

"You're never easy to read," he admits, surprising me. "But it's not hard to guess that eventually you'd ask. I would have been disappointed if you hadn't."

"Then let's just cut this short, and just tell me what he was referring to, and how much truth there is to his remarks."

I don't like that Edward takes his time to find the right words, but considering our continuing small misconceptions, I see where he'd want to make sure not to create a new one while diffusing another.

"Factually speaking, he's right, and you probably knew that already. You're not the first escort I hired, and a few of the others quit their job or took me as their exclusive client for a while. But what you and I have is special, and doesn't compare to what was before."

He sounds so sincere that I can't help but smile, but of course there are still some questions left unanswered.

"How did things end with them?"

He shrugs. "How things always end."

"Meaning?"

His sigh is a little exasperated.

"Unlike what Carlisle insinuated, I don't get off on warping women's minds and then subsequently breaking their spirit, if you are referring to that. And it's not like he has any information about that in the first place."

His phrasing confuses me a little.

"What do you mean?"

"Just imagine, if for whatever reason you and I broke up, would you call Carlisle and tell him the details? Or would you just drop off his radar and move on with your life?"

"I guess."

I must have sound less convincing than I actually am, because Edward snorts.

"You can't really consider believing the nonsense he keeps dishing out? Wasn't it you yourself who told me that you're done being his tool in getting back at me, or something like that?"

I nod, feeling a little sheepish.

"I know. And I am. But somehow I'm still wary of all this."

"All this?" he asks, a hint of humor returning to his voice.

"Yeah, all this," I echo. "You're too good to be true."

Now he laughs, but it's not a malicious laugh.

"Stop kidding yourself, there is a lot about me that most women wouldn't like. I'm too honest, I'm not considerate and caring enough, I don't drop everything on the spot for them and don't really cut back on my office hours just to spend more time with them."

"But those things don't bother me."

"Well, maybe I'm only perfect for you, then?" he offers, and I join his laugh wholeheartedly.

"That must be it."

"I'm sure it is."

We fall silent then, gazing at each other while we keep smiling.

"Anything else we need to discuss? Because if not, I'd really like to go back to sleep. I have to get up in four hours from now."

"Not really, no."

He nods, then pushes himself further onto the bed after I've gotten off him to make undressing easier. When he ditches his pants, I see the confirmation of what I've felt idly nudging my thigh the entire time, making me smirk briefly. After getting rid of my clothes, I join him on the bed turning my back towards him, and he curls his body around my back, so that his hard cock comes to rest against the crease between my leg and ass.

While his willingness is obvious, he doesn't do anything further, and after a moment he relaxes, one arm slung over my stomach as he snuggles even closer, the sound of his breathing soft in my ear.

"Are you comfortable this way?" I snicker and just to spite him, wriggle my ass a little. He groans, and his fingers dig a little into my skin.

"Yes, very, thank you so much for asking."

His strained tone makes me laugh, and after a moment, I take pity on him and hitch one leg up then reach between my legs to grab his cock and guide him to my pussy. I sigh contently as I feel him push into me, then relax further against his body, welcoming the warmth and intimacy of the position.

Edward kisses my shoulder softly before he starts to move slowly. It's easy to fall into a rhythm together, heat spreading through me yet without the pulse racing chase sex so often turns into. His lips keep skimming over my shoulder until he tucks me further into his embrace so that he can reach my ear.

"Weren't you just mad at me for wanting to fuck you?"

"I'm never mad at you for wanting to fuck me, I love sex too much for that. I just don't want to feel like that's the only thing you want me for."

"Sex is never the only thing I want you for," he moans into my neck, speeding up his motions a little as his climax draws closer.

I would have been quite content with not coming myself, but of course, I don't protest when the hand previously resting on my stomach moves between my legs so he can stroke my clit, replacing what remains of my relaxed complacency with need. Moaning loudly, I twist my upper body until I can reach his lips with my own, relishing the sensation of his tongue pushing into my mouth.

I can tell that he's trying to fight his orgasm, but for once he climaxes before I do, making me grin in spite of the need still raging inside of me. Ever the gentleman, he only rests for a moment, then pulls out so he can replace his cock with his fingers. Twisting around me, he somehow ends up crouching over me, peering down at me while he fucks me with his fingers. I don't need much longer myself, and at the last moment before I come, I pull his head down so I can kiss him, my screams muffled by our lips.

Satisfied, Edward sags back down onto the bed, his head coming to rest on my chest while he somehow manages not to put too much weight on me to become uncomfortable. I try to shove him away so I can get up and clean up the mess, but he doesn't let me, and pulls me into his side again, mirroring our previous position, sans the dire need for release.

After another try to pry him off me, I give up and snuggle contently against him, a smile still on my sweaty face.

"James won't be pleased if he has to change the cum stained sheets tomorrow."

"Fuck James," Edward murmurs into my hair, making me laugh.

"I'd rather not, thank you."

This time his reply is too muffled to make out, but that's probably for the better. The way his shoulders briefly shake with laughter is enough for me.

I'm about to drift off when he shifts slightly, and kisses my shoulder one last time.

"Promise me that you'll never again feel bad for spending time with your friends, okay?"

"Okay," I murmur sleepily, then an almost harsh laugh forces itself out of my chest, rousing me more than I like.

"What was that for?" he wants to know, his voice already gritty with sleep.

"I was just thinking that considering I don't really have that many friends, that's not going to be hard."

His silence seems heavy to me, or maybe it's my own need to face the harsh reality of my life so far that makes me speak on.

"I mean, there's Rose, but she's not really my friend, and after our last, ten word conversation when I told her I was taking a break I don't think I should count her as one. I've never been close with any of the other girls, and my neighbor is too much of a geek for me to find enough topics for a conversation that lasts longer than he needs to get my computer running again. And that concludes a really short list."

"No one from college you still talk to?"

I sigh and shake my head.

"Nope. They always ask me what I do, and I don't like lying. I like listening to their tales of their jobs, pets, kids, and houses even less. I have nothing to offer that compares to that."

"You have me."

His words almost make me sob, but I compress my lips until my throat stops aching. Once I'm sure that my face is blank again, I turn around in his arms to face him, then kiss him deeply. He gives a surprised sound but doesn't protest, yet when I pull away, he raises his brows, even the darkness of the room unable to hide the look he gives me. It's a look of sadness and understanding, and although I can't explain why, it makes me feel even closer to him. He didn't show any compassion for my confusion, but apparently in the dark of the night, when doubts and loneliness come seeping in, there's something inside of him that resonates with it. And in a way it makes sense, I can't imagine a man as powerful and reclusive as him having that many friends, either.

"Yes, and I'm so insanely glad about that," is what my jumbled mind eventually comes up with for an answer.

He grins and kisses me, then strokes my cheek softly.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

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><p><strong>I'd love to know what you think! I hope you enjoyed the update! <strong>**If everything goes according to plan, the next chapter should be online on Tuesday.**

**If you're on facebook, you can find me there! (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**

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	17. Chapter 17

**My heartfelt thanks go to Cullen Confection, prassacut and chrissy1201 for their help and support. **

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><p>The rest of the first week of my break is zooming by almost too fast to catch my breath. During the day I'm busy with the painting course, and more often than not, I find excuses to stay over at Edward's during the nights. Not all of them, and I'm quite happy to have some time on my own, but falling sleep with a warm body against my back is something I could get used to.<p>

Of course, life is never all fun and games, and reality crashes in on Monday morning of week two, when Jane gets replaced by a misanthropic guy named Philippe, with a popped 'p' at the end. He is rude to everyone not fawning over his supposed superiority over us, he randomly snaps at people for not paying attention, and he calls my attempts at living up to his high expectations 'dilettantish' and 'preposterous'. Unlike Jane's critique, which was just as harsh but clearly aimed at forcing us to do something unique and entirely coming from us instead of copying her, he seems to thrive on putting us down without delivering any other message, and when I tell him that in exactly so many words I know I've dug my own grave.

As the days go on, returning to my course becomes a continual hassle for me, and before long I'm seriously asking myself why I'm even sticking with it. Not because my efforts are not acknowledged, but because I'm starting to feel like I'm chasing a dream, and that's all there is to it. While I love painting, I will never become an artist, and while I know that beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, I don't mind not excelling at this. It's something I'm happy to accept, and when things don't really change as Jane returns the following week, I'm starting to reconsider my decision. In fact, all of my decisions, if I'm honest.

On Wednesday, Edward has to work late, again, and I find myself alone at home, again, bored out of my mind. No book can hold my attention for long, there is nothing worth watching on TV, and as I get more and more disgusted by my own pathetic whining, I pick up my phone and call Rose.

"Are you married yet?" is what she picks up with. Her words make me grin, if somewhat toothily, and seem like an echo of our last conversation, which she started with 'Are you quitting yet?' and ended seven words later.

"I know that this will be devastating for you to hear, but no. Just bored."

She laughs, and while her voice still holds some of that snappy edge, it's strangely warming to me. I've missed her bitchiness, and it's good to be talking with her again.

"Bored, eh? So I presume that means the Mister is still working and has no time to keep his personal fuck bunny occupied? What a shame, and such a waste of talent."

"You always say the sweetest things," I reply, unable to keep the mirth out of my tone.

Rose pauses briefly, as if to compose herself, or maybe she's just flipping through a magazine, for all I know.

"How's life as a civilian treating you?" she eventually goes on.

"Okay, I guess."

She interrupts me before I can say more.

"Oh, sweetie, only two weeks and the Honeymoon Phase is over already? That must be a world record."

She laughs at my exasperated sigh, but I have missed her teasing enough to ignore her continuing jibes with grace.

"I don't know about that, considering how many Vegas weddings get annulled within three days, I'd say I'm pretty average."

"You've never been average, girl, and you know that."

Her change in tone makes me pause, but my ego likes her candid if dry remark. It's only natural, who doesn't like being appreciated?

"Why, thank you so much."

Rose laughs in acknowledgement.

"So what have you been up to these past weeks of enjoying your newfound freedom?"

"I'm taking a painting course."

"Painting?" She sounds surprised. "Why painting?"

"It's something I've always wanted to do," I shoot back, somewhat defensively, and naturally, she picks up on that.

"But it's not what you hoped it would be?" she ventures a guess.

"Not exactly," I admit, then sigh. "It was great at first, but lost its appeal fast when the instructor changed."

"You're seriously letting some random stranger rain on your parade? Girl, what the fuck?"

Her remark lets humor drift back into my mood.

"You know me better than that. And yes, I was naïve to believe that for some reason, art is less full of assholes than any other trade, but it's not him telling me I don't have talent and my attempts are amateurish-"

"Which they must be, seeing as you only just picked up painting."

"Yes, that, too. Anyway, I'm starting to think this was a good thing to try, but if I'm honest with myself, it's just not the thing for me."

"Ah, the plot thickens," comes her wry remark. I groan, then scoff.

"I'm not asking for my old job back, just so you know."

I don't think she expects me to, anyway, but I would have been surprised if she hadn't said anything.

"Too bad, really. Your regulars keep asking about you, no matter how often I tell them that you quit."

"I didn't quit, I'm just taking a break," I tartly correct her, but then want to bang my head against the table over how that came out.

"Yeah, right, and you sound so happy about that."

I guess I deserve that, and take the hit without any further comment.

"I'm sure I'll find something else eventually. Still, it's nice not to be on any schedule and to freely plan my entire week." Or at least it will be, once I've quit the painting course.

"Why don't you join a knitting circle? Or what is it what the socialites always do in movies, oh, right, why don't you host some insane charity event? The more asinine the cause, the better!"

I roll my eyes at her, quite happy she can't see it. Even if her taunting is grating somewhat, bantering with Rose is fun.

"I don't know, both sounds too much like an excuse for gossiping to me."

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

I join in her laughter after a moment, but she gets serious again soon.

"Either way, I'm sure you'll find something. And if not, you can always quit fucking around and return to making some money with the real deal."

Someone who doesn't know her better might accuse her of trying to win back an asset, but I know that it's more than that. I think that in her own, twisted way she really cares for me, and is still convinced I'm throwing my life away.

And while I don't agree with her, there's a part of me that is starting to think that she might have a point.

"Just out of curiosity, who was asking for me?"

Asking won't hurt, and I admit that I'm curious.

"Why do you want to know if you're so happy with quitting your job? Oh, sorry,taking a break, of course."

"Vanity, what else?"

My reply makes her laugh, and give an answer, as well.

"Barry asked, the poor sod. Apparently, he changed his mind about finding your unusual forwardness disgusting. And Zack called earlier today, apparently his wife is pregnant again and put herself on a permanent sex ban, and the blueness of his balls is starting to bother him."

Neither surprises me, particularly as I'm sure that part of Barry's accusation was mostly Rose's exaggeration. I'm even a little tempted, but it's mostly that bittersweet happiness of knowing that someone misses me, rather than a real need to go back to my old ways.

"I see, your silence tells me that won't change your mind."

"Of course it won't. Did you really expect me to quit my break that easily?"

"No," she laughs. "But maybe things will look different in a couple of months, and it's a lot easier to admit that you've been a fool when you know that no one will hold your stupidity against you, but let you pick up the threads again as if nothing happened."

I know that she's talking from experience now, and I want to protest that things are different with Edward and me, but I refrain from it. Nothing I can say will change her mind, and the only thing that will make her shut up is if I keep proving her wrong. And it's not like I have anything to prove to her in the first place.

Rose takes my lack of an answer for what it is, and leaves it at that.

"As much as I enjoyed chatting with you, Bella, I need to get going. You know that you can always call me if you need me."

"Yes, I do. Have fun!"

"You know I will," she laughs, then hangs up.

The abrupt ending of our conversation only intensifies my loneliness, and makes me feel strangely rejected by the world. I hate feeling so pathetic, and after a moment's hesitation, I call Jane. It's only been two hours since the end of class, and her friends did make me promise to hang out with them again soon.

She doesn't pick up and I'm hesitant to leave a message on her voice mail, but figure it can't hurt.

"Hi, it's Bella. Just calling to ask what you're up to tonight. Yeah, that's about it already. Ah, bye!"

I screw my eyes shut and shake my head at myself. Years I've spent calling clients back and leaving messages, but none of them have ever been this asinine, or made me sound like a sixteen year old girl.

My heart skips a beat when my phone rings almost immediately, but it's only Jane returning my call.

"Hey there, just got your message." She underlines her obvious mirth with a small chuckle. I take that in silence, and try to make the best of it.

"At least it didn't scare you away."

"Nope, it takes a lot more than that to accomplish something similar. And to answer your sweet question, I'm in my studio, working, so no champagne and beer until well after midnight." She pauses, then adds, "But, if you want to come visit the monster in her lair, I can give you the address. I'll let you in if you bring food."

Her openness surprises me again, although almost two weeks with her should have taken care of that, but I can't say I mind. I just don't work well with people who act coy and play games, and always seem to end up with the refreshingly brash ones.

"Real food, or something terribly unhealthy?"

"If you're asking me like that, there's a deli round the corner from my building, if you could pick up some sandwiches from there, that would be perfect."

She gives me her address and directions for how to reach her studio once I've found the right building, and after saying our good-byes, I hang up. Another thing I value about my budding friendship with Jane, besides her being one of the most honest people I know, is that she doesn't give a damn about how people dress. I guess most people relish a chance to dress up, while I jump at every occasion to dress down and show up in casual clothes. Jeans, t-shirt, jacket, perfect in under three minutes.

Half an hour later, I find myself in the scary confines of the elevator that will, hopefully, lead me to her studio. It's derelict and seems to have been used for transporting goods rather than human cargo before, and I trust that this will make the difference between getting me to where I need to go, and ending my life in a horrible hundred foot drop. I can't help but cringe every time a cable groans, and quickly get off the moment the doors slide open.

I find myself in a huge single room that seems to take up the entire floor, stark, unadorned concrete everywhere. Painted canvases are balanced against every stable surface, some against the walls, others still up on wooden easels, with all manners of painting tools in between. Jane turns to smile at me, without a doubt alerted to my presence by the ruckus of the elevator, and puts down her palette.

"There you are! Perfect timing, I'm about done with the whole starving artist gig!"

She does me the favor of not hugging me with her paint splattered shirt and hands, and gladly accepts the bag of sandwiches I've brought with me, as instructed. While she digs into the food, I get two glasses and a bottle of red wine from a cupboard across the room, the only piece of furniture besides a utensil covered table and three chairs. Opening the bottle to let the wine breathe, I make a slow round to study the paintings a little closer, Jane's light steps soon joining me.

"What do you think?" she asks around a mouthful of food, gesturing at a black-and-red dominated canvas. I squint at the painting, trying for a moment to come up with a sophisticated answer, but then stick to my first impression.

"It makes me uncomfortable. Reminds me of carnage. What is it called?"

"Love," she answers cryptically, then laughs. "Raw, and painful, just like the real thing, don't you think?"

"Definitely," I agree, then move on to the next one. In the course, her examples have been a lot more subdued, while virtually all of the paintings here seem to reverberate with strong emotions. Half of them are borderline disturbing because of how they make me feel, but I wouldn't hesitate to put any of them in my living room.

Then I reach the canvas still wet and unfinished on the easel, the one she's currently working on. It is different, shades of blue that are both softer, and a lot less abstract than most of her other work. I notice her studying me more intently now, her interest in my reaction plain on her face.

"It seems like you only put half of yourself into it," I eventually comment.

"Why would you say that?" Unsurprisingly, she's not offended, but curious.

"It just looks half-cooked. And not because it's not finished yet, but it's like you don't want to pour all of yourself into it."

"Good point," she notes, a satisfied little smile on her face.

"Any particular reason for that?"

"It's for a charity auction. Not that I only give half of my talent for something I don't get paid for," she quickly adds, then chuckles. "But the host asked me to contribute a couple of paintings that are a little less, how did she put it? 'Slapping people in the face and confronting them with their own mediocrity and hypocrisy,' I think it was."

"Wise words."

"Coming from a wise woman," Jane agrees. "And, in all fairness, I don't think I would have toned it down for anyone else. She's a force to be reckoned with, that Esme Platt."

I'm not that surprised to learn that it's her, although the mention of her name makes my stomach clench.

Judging my reaction right, small as it probably is, Jane asks, "You know her?"

"We've met. I'm not sure many people really know her."

"Yeah, you've met her," she agrees, laughing again. "She's quite something, isn't she?"

"Yeah," I agree, somewhat lamely.

"Not a fan?"

"I think it's probably more a matter of her not being a fan of me."

That's the first thing I've said so far that seems to surprise her.

"That's strange, she's usually very fond of honest, blunt people. And from that I hear, she's close with that not-sugar daddy of yours." Then she widens her eyes in a wonderful imitation of astonishment. "Is that the reason she hates your guts?"

"Hardly," I snort, although her words make me wonder if maybe there might be a bit of truth to them – but no, I can't fathom Esme seeing anyone as competition, and the likes of me even less. And it's not as if Edward has ever made her feel like she's playing second fiddle to me.

Some of what is going on inside my head – and stomach – seems to have leaked onto my features, because when I look at her again, Jane is pursing her lips.

"There's a story to that, I'm sure. Wanna spill, girlfriend?"

I shrug, not entirely sure how to answer.

"Let's just say that I might have inadvertently ruined one of her parties with my honesty and bluntness."

She seems to be waiting for more, and when nothing comes, she makes a dismissive sound low in her throat.

"I haven't been to many of those, but I can't think of anything you could have done to ruin them, at least in her eyes. If anything, that woman seems to thrive on scandal, harpy that she is. And, no offense, but I don't think that she regards you as significant enough to be able to spoil her game."

"None taken, I fully agree with that. Maybe I'm just paranoid."

"What did you do? Now I have to know."

I give her a long, bland look, but instead of discouraging her, it only makes her guess.

"What could it be? I can't really think of much that might ruffle her feathers, but let's see. You and boyfriend dearest went at it, but forgot that virtually anyone could hear or see you?"

I shake my head, allowing myself a short laugh.

"Okay, how about you and her husband then? And don't even pretend to be scandalized now, half of the city knows that Carlisle is a man whore, and Esme tolerates it."

Again, I shake my head, but even though I try not to let anything show, she latches on to that.

"But you have, in the past, right? Fucked him?"

"That's not the point."

I know that my answer is the wrong one, or maybe the right, depending on who you ask, because her eyes light up, and her chuckle is both wry and triumphant.

"You're a whore! Sorry, call girl, escort, whatever the official, socially barely acceptable term is."

There's no judgment in her voice, only that gleeful excitement like a child solving a particularly hard puzzle. I don't know how to react for a moment, also because I'm not quite sure how to answer that, but eventually acknowledge her reasoning with a nod.

"I am."

"That certainly explains where you get the dough from for the class. A while ago, I asked an escort about modeling for a nude painting class I was giving, just for a couple of hours, and, oh boy, I make a lot of money with what some think is sub par talent, but nowhere this much, this fast." Jane takes another bite from her sandwich, then squints at me as if to re-assess me, but the openness of her body language doesn't change. "But that does pose another question. I always thought you working girls were generally too busy to have the amount of free time required for that class. I know it always fucks with my schedule, and I don't have to do the inane assignments I give my students, on top of actual attendance of the course."

"I'm taking a break right now." At least that's something I can answer honestly. Jane nods, as if that makes sense, but then cocks her head to the side.

"Just so you don't get me wrong, I don't give a flying fuck about what you do for a living. Although, like so many others, my curiosity if of course piqued. And, unlike most of them, I'm not afraid to admit said morbid curiosity."

It's not that often that I get that reaction, probably because I usually don't make a point about caring overtly much about what people think. Yet in the light of my reaction to the debacle at Esme's party, I'm starting to re-evaluate that.

"Sure, I don't mind satisfying your curiosity, morbid or otherwise. But you have to understand that I don't make a habit out of outing my clients."

"Ah, discretion, of course. So, how did you manage to crash Esme's party? From that entire 'taking a break' thing and the fact that you keep referring to that boyfriend of yours as such, I presume that you weren't there on official business?"

"His arm candy, yes, but not paid for that."

She laughs, clearly delighted by my remark.

"Okay. What went wrong then? Because something must have."

I hesitate, then shrug.

"Someone asked me what I do, and I have her an honest answer. That was rewarded with the usual shocked silence, and I guess they had something to talk about when I stormed out."

Jane seems to be waiting for more, and when nothing follows she almost looks dismal.

"That's it?"

"Plus or minus a few details, yeah."

"Huh. I wasn't there, of course, but it doesn't really sound like a full blown scandal. Unless you left something important out?"

"Besides making it abundantly clear how Edward and I met, not really."

She thinks about that for a moment, then dismisses it.

"He's filthy rich, one of the most powerful guys in town, I think he could almost get away with murder and they wouldn't really care. Unless it's not really him you worry about, but how they see you. You haven't really struck me as the self-conscious type, but that's the only thing that makes sense."

My first instinct is to protest, but I swallow it before I can embarrass myself like that.

"I'm having a little difficulty with that whole boyfriend / girlfriend thing," I admit.

Jane smirks, then nods towards the red carnage picture we've been talking about.

"Raw and painful."

I agree with her, although I feel like adding 'vulnerable' to the list. Silence falls, heavy but not uncomfortable, before she clears her throat.

"Still, I don't think that Esme considers her party ruined by something like that. She's above such things."

"Maybe," I concede, but her conviction doesn't really change how I feel about the entire affair. In the end, it's never been about how she feels about it, but how I do, and that's something no one else can help me with except myself.

"I'm not sure if this painting course is the right thing for me," I blurt out, suddenly driven by the need to change the topic.

Jane blinks, but she doesn't comment on what clearly is my attempt to deflect any further discussion of my insecurities.

"Why? You're one of the few I feel I'm actually getting through to."

"It's not that I don't like it anymore, because really, I do, but -," I trail off there, trying to find the answer to what has been bothering me for days now.

"But you're missing your old job?" she ventures a guess, her smile wry.

"But I miss doing something where I'm not the only one who profits from it," I finish the sentence.

"Oh, trust me, I profit greatly from your tuition fee. In a way, you could say you've simply changed sides."

As much as I appreciate the levity of her comment, it doesn't even get close to the point I'm trying to make, that only just now forms in my mind.

"It's not about not getting paid, but I think what I really miss is doing something where I feel I've actually _done_ something. If that even makes any sense. Painting is fun, and more of a challenge and release than I thought it would be, but it's entirely useless and defies all purpose."

Only then do I get how that must sound to her, but instead of getting offended, Jane answers with humor heavily lacing her tone.

"It's not instant gratification, I get that. You bare your soul, and then you wait for a verdict that you're not sure you even care about, because what do they know, and why should you give a shit about their opinion about something you cannot measure? I mean, just look at how many artists only got famous postmortem. It's rather depressing, don't you think? You need a hefty dose of idealism for this trade, and I don't think that works well the requirements for doing what you do. But, for the record, I will miss bossing you around, that was fun."

Her words make sense, and while I still feel weird about quitting so fast, they make me feel less like a fraud.

"You can always do that over sandwiches and wine."

"I'd love to," she grins, then pours our glasses and hands one to me. "To bossy women who don't give a shit."

Joining her laughter, I clink my glass to hers, then savor the right wine.

"Great, I'm unemployed and without a purpose. Life is really shaping up for me since I quit whoring around."

"I thought you were just taking a break?" Jane remarks, but contrary to the offhand way she says it, her eyes study me intently. I feel like ignoring that slip, but can't help but admit that maybe there's more to it.

"I might, if I find something to occupy myself with that I won't abandon two weeks in. That might be fun for a while, but I'm not really that fond of pointlessly burning through my finances."

"There must be something besides painting you want to do? We all have hopes and dreams, high aspirations and visions, and so many lack the loaded guy wrapped around your finger to make it all happen."

As before, her insinuations bother me a little, although I can't protest them as I would never have gotten into her course without Edward's influence.

"I don't know, which is kind of the problem."

"Kind of?"

"Which is the problem," I correct myself, then grin. "I know, poor me, two degrees, lots of money, even more if I just ask for it, and I'm bored out of my mind."

"You could do what every other trophy wife does and do some charity work."

I don't know whether to laugh or not at that.

"I'm not sure people would give even a cent to a fund-raiser held by the Whore of Babylon. By now my little stint from Esme's party must have made the rounds, and if not yet, then it will the moment anyone starts sniffing into who I am."

"I think you underestimate people's hunger for scandals. Take me, for instance, I know I'm talented, but I didn't really make any money until I had a brief yet passionate lesbian love affair with the wife of one of those filthy rich bastards. Did they publicly humiliate me? You bet. But since the day that got out, I've been selling twenty times as much and can charge almost whatever I want for my pictures. Just need a thick skin, that's all, and you don't strike me as the simpering little wall flower, except for that Esme business. That guy must really have your panties in a twist, if he makes you act like that."

I'm not sure I agree with her, but I can't deny that to a certain point what she claims makes sense.

"How would I even go about that? I know a lot of people, but I don't think any of them would want to be publicly associated with me."

"You don't have to build it all up from scratch. Why don't you ask Esme if she needs some help, if your guy and she are that close? Whatever she might think of you after that party, I'm sure she'll let you know."

It's an option, and would also take care of my uncertainty – and, I have to admit, a chance to find out more about why she and Edward are so close is tempting, too.

"I'm just not sure if I'm cut out for that kind of thing. Charity work, I mean."

"Hosting a fund-raiser has nothing whatsoever to do with being charitable," Jane scoffs. "It's event planning and crowd control. I personally couldn't do it, because the idea of organizing anything is already making me run for the hills, but if that's your thing, why not? You're good with people you've only just met, that is obvious from how taken the bunch of idiots I call my friends are with you after only one evening, why not use your social skills for, I don't know, a good cause? And keeping yourself from dying of boredom is a good cause, as well."

I'm still not entirely convinced this is a good idea, but it's not like I have a better one. Jane toasts me with her wine glass when I finally incline my head.

"Great, so what are you waiting for, call her!"

"I don't have her number."

Jane rolls her eyes, as if that is an invalid reason, then whips out her phone.

"Not sure if this is hers or her assistant's, but she told me to call her any time, so might as well give that a shot."

My stomach churns at the idea alone, but I don't hesitate to punch in the numbers, then hit dial. I almost hope that the call will go to voice mail, but surprisingly fast a familiar voice picks up.

"Whoever you are, this better be important, because you're keeping me from a world class massage."

I swallow thickly but force my voice to remain steady and strong, and not come out like a little girl's shriek.

"Hi, Esme, this is Bella Swan. Edward's girlfriend?" I helpfully supply when she doesn't react at first.

"Right, Edward's Bella," she laughs, the sound rich and heavy with something I can't quite identify, but it's gone when she goes on. "What can I do for you, Bella? This can't be a simply courtesy call, coming from you."

I'm not sure how to take that, but she doesn't sound unpleasant, so I take a deep breath and push on.

"I was wondering if you need any help with your charity fund-raisers." Only then do I realize how generic that sounds, and when I look at Jane with rising panic, she grins.

"I'm contributing the paintings to her Breast Cancer Research rally."

I repeat those details to Esme, mentioning Jane, and Esme is quick to respond.

"Why don't we discuss this in a more personal setting than over the phone? Plus, there is that matter of my massage. Are you free tomorrow morning? Or, scratch that, I have an invitation to a cocktail party later tonight, why don't we meet there? I'll have Diane call the host to put you on the guest list. Was that Jane's voice I heard? Tell her to come, too!"

The way she says it doesn't leave much room for excuses, so I accept. I know the address she gives me, and after a surprisingly cordial good-bye from her, I hang up.

"Now that seems to have gone well?" Jane prompts. I relay the invitation to her, allowing myself a smile, but she shakes her head in return.

"I really have to work, and I'm not exactly in the mood for socializing tonight. But enjoy your job interview, as it is."

"It doesn't bother you that I'm dropping everything to meet with her?"

Jane shrugs, then leans closer and gives me a smile that is almost too familiar for my comfort.

"You can make it up to me another time, girlfriend."

I'm not entirely sure how to take that, but decide to ignore her offer, if there is one in her words. Dread is slowly giving way to excitement, and once I've wished Jane a productive night with her sandwiches and wine, I brave the elevator once more.

In my current outfit I can't go straight to the party, so I catch a cab home and quickly change into something more appropriate. As much as 'cocktail party' makes me want to go for a sleek, knee length dress, I instead slip into an orange, short sleeved silk top and black, wide leg trousers – still elegant, but a lot more business than pleasure.

With make-up and pinning up my hair it still takes me enough time to eventually arrive at my destination after Esme gets there, and I'm not surprised that dropping her name opens all doors for me. Accepting a glass of champagne but declining any food I mingle with the guests, slowly making my way among them in search for Esme. A couple of women seem to recognize me, at least from the way they keep looking at me a moment longer than strictly polite, but I ignore them.

Tonight, I'm here with a purpose, and, quite frankly, I don't care whether they approve of me, or not.

I feel elation rush through me when I realize now that I have a purpose, that is true once again.

It's not hard to find Esme, her raucous laughter preceding her, on the balcony overlooking the city, stunning as always in a midnight blue gown. When she sees me approach, she turns from the two women who she had been talking to, clearly dismissing them, and motions for me to come over.

"Bella, so good to see you again!" she greets me, her tone wry but the sentiment still genuine. Her flunkies stare at me balefully but both take their leave, until it's just me and Esme within earshot, as long as we keep our voices down.

"I'm sorry I was a little short on the phone, but you have to understand, Miguel's hands are to die for. I don't think that otherwise I would have found the strength to surround myself with these insipid damsels."

"I wouldn't dare to keep you from Miguel, or his hands," I reply, testing the waters. She rewards me with a wide grin and a wink.

"Of course not. Although I have to say, I'm surprised about the matter of your call. I thought the painting course would keep you occupied at the moment."

"You know about that?"

"Edward mentioned it," she remarks offhandedly. "And the fact that you know Jane only underlines that. A remarkable woman, don't you think?"

"She's a great artist," I answer, trying to see if that is the answer Esme is seeking. Realizing what I'm doing I laugh at myself, shaking my head briefly. "And she's quite mouthy, and bold. I assume you were referring to that?"

Esme inclines her head, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I've come to know her as very resourceful, too."

I'm not sure I want to know what she means with that, but as it's none of my business, I drop the subject.

"Thank you for inviting me and agreeing to see me on such short notice."

"Well, the fund raiser is on Friday two weeks from now, you won't be of much help for me if I don't get you started working soon. I hope you're a morning person, because I like to do my business meetings in the morning, eight at the latest. I presume you're good with people, so you'll work your way through calling the important ones on the guest list this week, and everyone who hasn't either committed to donate or come to the fund-raiser, you'll get to personally hound next week. You'll probably need a car for that, but I'm sure Edward will gladly help you out there if you don't have an appropriate one yourself. Have I forgotten something? Let me think."

She strikes a thoughtful pose, but her eyes find mine immediately, her gaze hard and calculating.

"Oh, right, there's just one thing. I hope your decision to keep your legs together for anyone who isn't my darling Edward is final, at least for now, because I won't have you sullying my work by whoring your way up and down the guest list. Are we clear on that?"

"Crystal."

In a way, it's comforting to see the steel glinting underneath the velvet of her cordiality, and I can handle her bite if she stays this forward with me. I prefer that any day over playing games and backstabbing.

"Wonderful. Be at my house at 7:30 in the morning so that Diane can set you up with your own phone and email account. I think you know the address."

I nod, but as she is about to turn away from me, I clear my throat.

"You're not even going to ask me if I want the job, or discuss the details, or anything else?"

Esme sighs as if the details are boring her, which is probably the case, but looks at me intently as she resumes speaking.

"You're not going to draw a salary from this because I'm regarding this as both a favor to Edward, and a kind of internship for you. Fuck up, and I'm done with you. Prove to me that you're as bright as you seem, and I'd be happy to make this a more permanent solution to both our needs. I need people I can trust and who don't bullshit me for the more sensitive stuff. I presume you wouldn't have called if you weren't seriously interested, so we can do without the entire spiel of that."

"Good."

"Anything else?"

Again her dismissal makes me want to back down, but I smother the urge to put her apparent needs above my own.

"Don't you mind at all about my past? Don't you think that might smudge your otherwise immaculate record?"

Her smile is almost predatory as she turns it on me.

"I don't mind, and I don't care. I wouldn't set you to work on anything that deals with children or education, because there the hypocrites could find someone to listen to them. I also don't tolerate any behavior that could let anyone put any blame on you during the time you work for me, but what you did before that is of no concern to me. Not many things are sacred to me, but I believe in giving people a second chance. And, God knows, these charity events are teeming with unsatisfied women who will go a long way to get one last taste of the naughtiness they never experienced themselves, as long as their sacred marriages aren't at stake. Tell them your saucy tales, give them a tiny piece of the glamour of your past without having to gulp down the bitter pills that life must have come with, but at the end of the evening leave at your man's side so they can rest assured that you're not a predator laying in wait for their husbands. But no more running away scared and crying, that really doesn't suit you."

"I think I can do that."

"We have an agreement then?"

"We do."

"Wonderful. See you tomorrow, bright and early then," she quips, before she sweeps past me, off to find someone else who wants to bask in her light.

For a moment, I miss Rose. In many ways, she and Esme are alike, their blunt honesty, their low opinion of those they smile at day in, day out, but with Rose at least I've always known what game she was playing. Esme is still a mystery to me, but one I'm excited about solving, rather than wary of the consequences. What I won't miss are the threats, because for one thing, that doesn't seem to be Esme's style, and she doesn't have anything to hold against me. And maybe, just maybe, working with her will give me a hint about why she and Edward seem so damn close.

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><p><strong>I'd love to know what you think!<strong>

**If you're on facebook, you can find me there! (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**

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	18. Chapter 18

**Huge thank yous go to my wonderful beta, ****Cullen Confection, ****and my trustworthy cheerleaders, ****prassacut and chrissy1201!**

**I'm sorry that I had to skip a couple of update days, but the last few weeks have been rough. Thank you for your continuing support!**

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><p>The moment my head hits the pillow, the alarm goes off, or so it seems.<p>

I'm wide awake, my heart racing, and the first coherent words that form in my mind are what tumbles over my lips.

"I'll call Mrs. Erhart the moment I get back to the office!"

The incessant beeping of the alarm cuts off, and Edward rolls over to grin up at me, his eyes still clouded with sleep and his hair sticking up in all directions.

"Good morning to you, too," he laughs, then pulls me back down to him as I groan and scrunch my eyes shut. His lips against my own are soft at first, then become increasingly insistent, but I pull away from him before his hands can start wandering from my arms to more responsive areas.

"Gah, I hate this job! I want my life back!"

Edward chuckles, his grin now wry.

"You know that you love it."

I sigh, but can't keep from responding to his grin with one of my own.

"Yes. Yes, I do, but still -"

He shushes me with another kiss, and I don't know if I should be frustrated or grateful that he pulls away after that and trots off towards the bathroom.

"Only one more day, as you keep telling me!"

I nod, still grinning. Tonight's the evening of the fund raiser, the finish line of what feels more and more like a marathon to me just ahead.

The last two weeks have been a blast, although they've also been the most exhausting in my entire life. Tonight I will know if it all pays off, or if I've been running myself ragged for nothing. Throughout it all Edward has been more supportive than I could ever have expected or asked for, and I would never have guessed how much not seeing each other every day and barely being able to spend a few minutes together over a late evening dinner of take-out Chinese can bring people together.

As tired as my body is, my mind pushes me into action and with a last miserable groan, I roll out of bed and follow Edward into the bathroom. He smirks at me from where he's still standing before the toilet while I pad across the tiled floor and into the shower stall, too intent on luxuriating under the warm water to care what else is going on around me. Not that doing pretty much everything possible to men's cocks for the past nine years has left even a thread of shame inside of me for watching a guy take a leak.

While I'm working in the conditioner, Edward joins me, his hands coming around my body as he pushes himself flush against my back. I chuckle as his lips latch onto my neck, and don't even try to dislodge his fingers from where they slide between my legs.

I know I'm going to be late, but right now, I don't give a fuck. I can be driven and focused for the next twenty hours, but now is not the time for that.

Twenty-six minutes later, I'm sliding by Edward on the way down the stairs, reaching the bottom a full second ahead of him. James is, as usual, already waiting for us, two travel mugs of coffee held at the ready.

"Good morning, sir, Ms. Swan."

As always, he manages to sneer at me even while being perfectly polite to Edward, but I'm beyond caring about that today, besides secretly plotting to one day hug and kiss him as I snatch my coffee from his grasp. Not bothering to put on a coat over my dark gray pencil skirt and power suit jacket, I fly out of the house and towards the right of the two cars waiting in the driveway, side by side. Edward is right behind me, chuckling softly as he angles towards his red Maserati while I slide into the bright orange Audi TTS he pretty much pushed at me when I told him about my new job.

I love this car, and I love this job, and I love this man who takes it all in stride and supports me in every way he can.

At exactly 6:55 A.M., I pivot the car into my usual spot in the parking deck underneath the building Esme's charity organization owns the top floor of. Even though I'm half an hour earlier than I strictly have to be, Diane's BMW is already occupying the space next to mine. On the way to the elevator, I wonder if she even left last night but with two kids and a nasty divorce, I don't see her pulling an all-nighter just like that.

Prim as ever, she waves at me when I waltz into the office, not for a moment stopping in her phone conversation at the same time. I smile back at her, then utter a frustrated sigh at the stack of new items on my desk that need my attention. Just one more day, I tell myself, then connect the headset to my phone and dial Mrs. Erhart, whose need for being told daily how much we appreciate her contribution will hopefully get us rewarded later tonight.

Two hours later, my throat is sore from talking non-stop, and I'm almost relieved when Esme herself comes walking into the office. For the last week or so, she has ditched the daily morning meetings at her house and come over here as not to keep us busy bees away from useful work for too long - her words, not mine. And while I don't mind not having the extra commute to drive, I wouldn't have protested spending more time with her.

When I first met her at the yacht, I got a pretty good picture of her, or so I thought. True enough, Esme wears two faces, showing one to the people she had to deal with, and the other only to those she actually enjoys meeting. She never bows to anyone, and she rarely lies outright, but I realized that she is one thing above all else – a very skilled manipulator. Her name and money may open doors all over the city for her, but it is her genuine way of dealing with people that leaves the real impact. More than once I've gotten a rebuke when I called someone on our guest list, only to have Esme drop me a note a couple of minutes later, spelling out a very generous donation to take down, and more often than not, personal attendance at the fund raiser along with it. It's baffling to observe her at work and more than once, I recognized the way she smiles at someone or how she not-quite sweet-talks them into bending to her will from Edward's demeanor. Not that that surprises me, with her being his mentor, but it gives me some food for thoughts.

Not so today, for today my mind is completely occupied with the hundreds of tasks that still need to be done in time for everything to be prepared. I'm glad when Esme's 'meeting' turns into handing out fresh coffee and scones for Diane, me, and the other three girls, and after making sure that everything else is on track, she all but steps between me and the workload still waiting on my desk.

"Bella, I need you at the hotel at five, to take care of the catering crew and make sure that the seating arrangements are up to date. Be there at three, I've scheduled us both for manicures and pedicures, and I'm certain you will want some time to change and do your hair. Whatever you can't get finished until then, Marcy will take care of."

And before either of us can acknowledge her directions, or even think about protesting, she is gone again, leaving the office even more hectic than before.

Time flies, and before I know it, Marcy is pushing me towards the elevator, telling me to get going or else Esme will be pissed at both of us. I can tell that she's not happy with me, the new girl, getting the preferential treatment, but it's not like I asked for this, nor as if such favors come without a flip side to them. I plaster a smile on my face and wish everyone good luck, then drive over to the hotel, barely making it on time.

I'm not even out of my car yet when a harassed looking woman herds me towards the spa upstairs, where Esme is already being doted upon by a herd of white-clothed employees. She herself only wears a white bathrobe, revealing her long, tanned legs, and a white towel wrapped around her head. Upon seeing me, she slips her hand out of the manicurist's grasp to gesture me to come hither. Smiling, this time genuinely, if a little harrowed by my haste, I take the place to her right, slipping my heels off to let the waiting women work their magic on me.

"I hope I haven't upended your plan too much by summoning you here on such short notice, but after all the hard work you've been doing, pro bono no less, I figured you deserved a little pampering."

"That's certainly not necessary, but highly appreciated," I reply, relaxing my feet in the hot water.

"I also wanted a moment to talk to you, and as you can hardly run off like this, I figured now is as good a time for that as ever."

My stomach does a quick flip at that, but I force myself not to show my queasiness at that too openly. I haven't had a real heart to heart with someone coming close to being my boss in a long, long time – Rose doesn't count, because I've never had to impress her with my performance – but as Esme continues to gaze at me intently, I get the feeling that she hasn't called me here in the role of supervisor.

"How does drab normal working life suit you, dear?" she cuts right through the formalities, the twinkle in her eyes turning my own smile wry.

"I'm coping, I guess. I'm not used to working that many hours sitting at a desk or chasing down people who want to evade me, but I'm happy to deal with a new challenge."

Esme nods, then looks away from me to the girl working on her nails.

"It must be a change, I understand. Speaking of change, how is Edward dealing with that?"

I wonder for a moment how I should reply, then decide to pry a little.

"I'm somehow getting the feeling that you know more about that than I do."

Her only answer is an enigmatic smile, and she changes the topic after that.

"Have you decided if you want to stay with my organization? I don't think it's hard to guess that you've pretty much exceeded my expectations so far."

I shrug, a little uneasy at her question.

"I guess?"

She raises her eyebrows, a displeased twist coming to her lips.

"Of course you'll get paid for that, if that's what has you undecided."

Her tone, more than her words, makes my hackles rise, and I'm not afraid to let her know about that with my tart reply.

"Money isn't the problem, I'm just not sure I'm cut out for such selfless work." She keeps eyeing me askance, so I explain. "As much as working in a team is a fun experience, I'm not used to not getting the attention for the work I'm doing." Esme's frown turns into a smile, if a not entirely nice one, and I realize how that must have sounded.

"I bet you're not."

"I didn't mean it like that. And I really don't want to sound ungrateful for the opportunity, because I am very grateful about it, and I love the job. I'm just uncertain whether it's the right thing for my ego, or if I would be better suited doing something else."

I hate sounding like a quitter, but Esme takes it in stride, as if she has been expecting my reaction. Maybe she has.

"What do you think you and your ego would be better suited for, then?"

Luckily, she doesn't even hint that I might want to return to my old job, but the implication is plain on her face.

"PR work, maybe. Something a little less like a personal assistant. Then again, I have no idea if that will work with my job history, so maybe I should just suck it up and be happy with the opportunity you've presented me with. Thank you, again, I really can't tell you often enough -"

"Obviously," she laughs as she interrupts me. "And as I keep telling you, there's no need to thank me, the work you've been doing for me is by far enough. Leave the ass kissing for those receptive to it."

We share a grin, and when she doesn't go on, I try to steer our conversation back to where I've tried to lead it before.

"May I ask you a personal, and obviously nosy, question?"

"Of course."

"How close are you and Edward?"

She takes her time thinking about her reply, which in turn makes me both antsy for it and wanting to take my question back, but when she opens her mouth, her tone is light and playful.

"If what you really want to know is whether we've ever had sex, the answer is no. I admire him for his ambitions and his bright mind, not his pert ass. And I've thought you a lot more secure in your abilities to charm a man than to ask me this."

I can freely admit that I have been wondering about that as well, but it isn't the reason behind my question.

"I am. I was more wondering about what you might be talking about outside of the bedroom, not doing inside. No offense, but if he's more interested in screwing you than me, I think I'd have realized that by now and gladly left the field to you."

My answer amuses her, judging from the small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I doubt there's a single man in this city who'd rather fuck me than you, including my husband." My stomach does another of those unsettling flips I'm not used to, but before I can even begin to stammer a reply, Esme goes on. "Yes, I know about that. Carlisle and I don't have secrets, at least not of that matter. No details, but he tells me, just in case I end up having to deal with any of his women, professional or otherwise. Do I care? Yes, but not in the way you probably expect me to. We still fuck sometimes, so it's in my best interest that he shows some taste, and takes care about not bringing home any unpleasant surprises. If you're worried about any emotional complications, I think it's safe to say that Edward is the only one you'll have to worry about on that regard."

"Do I?"

I'm less disconcerted about the looks the girls working on our respective feet exchange, than the fact that Esme seems to know more about the inner workings of my boyfriend than I do.

"That you will have to ask him personally, but he's not made of stone."

I incline my head, trying to lend the moment some levity with a smile, but stop when I realize my relapse. No need to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation, after all.

"It's not like he's about to succumb to his raging jealousy, or something like that," Esme drags me out of my momentary brooding. "And I might be wrong with my assessment, maybe he just needed to vent, and thought it was better to tell me than you. If anything, he hates appearing to be weak, and his feelings for you make him vulnerable. Like any man, he wants to be strong for you. But I'm sure he would have mentioned something if it really bothered him. After all, he knows what you are, he can't expect you to be a blushing virgin in any sense of the meaning."

For whatever reason, hearing her refer to my years of being a whore like that rubs me the wrong way, but I swallow the feeble protest that wants to come up in me before it can develop into full blown ire. If nothing else, Esme doesn't believe in sugarcoating the truth, and that's part of why I admire her.

"So he does confide in you?"

"You could say that. Who else but his mentor, who has known him long before he became _the_ Edward Cullen, can he confide in?"

The way she cocks her brow at me makes me wonder if she thinks I want to challenge her about that, but instead I shrug.

"I'm happy he has you then. How do they say, 'it gets lonely at the top'?"

"Interesting answer," she muses. "So you're not the jealous type then, either?"

"I have no problems with acknowledging that barely two months after we've met, I'm not the only woman in his life, if that's what you mean."

"Wise attitude. It's obvious he doesn't just want you for your pert ass, either."

"Why, thank you so much for noticing that."

With the previous gravity of the situation lifted, Esme allows herself a chuckle.

"Let me make you an offer. Stay with me for a couple of months, learn the ropes, make connections. If you still want to change careers, or venture out on your own, I'll write you a glowing letter of recommendation that you, without a doubt, will deserve. I miss having someone around who isn't a hundred percent intent on always saying the right things to me, and I'm sure we will both benefit from this arrangement. Plus, I'm sure Edward won't mind, and I'm always happy to give you a hall pass if he wants to whisk you away for a weekend, or something like that."

"I'd love to do that. Thank -"

"Don't thank me yet, I can be a cruel taskmistress! Now, where is that Mimosa I ordered half an hour ago?" she swiftly turns towards one of the hovering serving staff, effectively concluding the business part of our conversation. My phone rings, and when Esme gives me a curt nod of approval, I pick it up with my right hand, not minding the nasty look the woman previously working on filing my nails is giving me. Apparently Esme's offhand way of dealing with me is rubbing off on them, but the call is too important for me to postpone it.

From there on, things quickly turn back into the whirl of hectic activity I've been submerging myself in for the last couple of days, and before I know it, it is eight in the evening, and the dinner part of the fund raiser in full swing. I know that I should be sitting next to Edward at the table with Esme, Carlisle and the most influential guests, in short those who are expected to cough up the most dough, but there's always something that needs my attention, or some last minute problem that needs to be solved. I'm constantly excusing myself to flit off, and the first moment of respite I get is when Esme takes the stage for her speech. I'm waiting at the side, backup batteries for her microphone in hand, when a familiar, warm hand strokes down my arm, Edward's voice sounding low and close to my ear.

"Do you think there's even a remote chance that I get you all to myself before this is over?"

I glance over my shoulder to catch a look of his face, his easy smile telling me that, either way, he'll take my answer in stride.

"Probably not. Why?"

He shrugs, moving close enough for his body to almost touch mine, but not quite.

"You know, I'm a man, you're a woman...," he trails off there, and at my frown allows himself a light chuckle. "I want to parade you around a bit, make everyone jealous with the wonderful, beautiful woman I've managed to ensnare. What else could I possibly mean?"

"Oh, I don't know," I huff, then take a deliberate step backwards that brings my ass flush with the front of his pants for a second. "Besides being terribly stressed out, I'm also incredibly horny. Don't think you can get away with that little teasing today in the shower; as you so pointedly phrased it, I'm a woman, I need more than your tongue and fingers, and that very soon."

I can't hide a satisfied smile when he utters a low groan, but my triumph dwindles when he visibly gathers himself, doing a surprisingly good job of keeping himself in check.

"Too bad you have to work for hours still," he drawls, then leaves me to my suddenly frustrated self. As he makes his way back to his place, I see him glance over to me a couple of times, a smile creeping onto his face as he must realize how flustered I am.

After Esme's speech, things are slowly starting to wind down, at least on my end. I manage to sneak into the kitchen and help myself to some of the food I've missed earlier, then go back out to hunt down Esme to ask whether she needs my help.

It takes me a while to track her down, and I'm surprised to find her with Edward near the bar, both sipping drinks while they chat, uninterrupted by the crowds around them. Esme sees me first, and it looks as if she's cutting off in mid-sentence to wave me over. They both smile at me when I join them, and Edward puts a hand on my lower back almost possessively. I give him a long look for that but Esme laughs at our antics.

"I think that's my signal to stop taking all of your time, Bella," she chuckles, then turns to Edward. "I can't tell you how much help Bella has been. I'm shamelessly claiming that I wouldn't have been able to get everything running as perfect as it did without her. I'm almost loathe to let you carry her off now, I wouldn't mind have someone reliable helping me with the aftermath now."

"You are too gracious for your own good," he retorts, then pulls me closer, a clear indication that he won't let go of me anymore if he can help it. The gesture makes me laugh in turn, gaining me a wide grin from him that easily rips ten years from his face.

"I know, I know," Esme huffs, then drains her glass. "Enjoy your weekend. And you, my dear, I expect refreshed and ready to tackle whatever I throw your way on Monday morning."

"Yes, ma'am," I playfully salute her, then look after her as she rejoins the crowd. When I turn back to him, I catch Edward gazing at me, still smiling, although it's a much gentler smile now, and a hell of a lot more intimate than what I'm used to him displaying in public.

"What?" I ask when he just keeps looking at me. He blinks, then clears his throat, but the warmth doesn't leave his expression.

"How fast can you pack your things? If we leave now and stop by your house on the way to the airport, I mean."

"Thirty minutes maybe? Depends on what I have to bring."

"Whatever you want to wear, although you should know by now that I prefer you naked," he snarks, then pulls out his phone. I listen as he tells someone, James presumably, to get 'everything ready in an hour', before he turns back to me. "Let's go."

"I can't just leave like this!" I complain, but don't even try to sound convincing. He raises his eyebrows, and I add, "I still have a couple of people I need to talk to, or at least say good-bye to! I haven't even talked to Jane at all tonight!"

Almost in sync, we both look out over the assembled people and I feel my heart sink. I should really do what I just said, and I realize it will probably take me up to two hours to be done with everything.

"Forget about them, they'll survive without you. I'm not sure I can say the same about myself."

I give a noncommittal grunt at that, but at his puppy dog eyes, I finally cave.

"But if anyone asks, you hauled me out of here against my will!"

Edward laughs, then leans into me to kiss me, the taste of whiskey heavy on his tongue.

It doesn't take long to get to the exit, now that we're both determined to get away from here, and when I want to turn towards the parking area, Edward instead leads me towards a waiting car. Belatedly, I recognize it as one of his, James already getting out to open the back door for us, and in no time we're off.

When we stop at my house, I try again – unsuccessfully – to extract any information from Edward, but his answer remains the same. He only adds that I should bring my passport, but while I spring upstairs to change and pack, I wonder if he's just misleading me again like with our trip to New York City.

In the end, I settle on a selection of clothes I can easily combine for both casual and more classy events, hoping that wherever we end up, it will be at least as warm as it is here. For traveling, I change into a simple green dress and comfortable, low heeled shoes, elegant yet easy to wear for an extended period of time, although I doubt that will be the case.

James still manages to look pissed when he has to lug my bags to the car a full ten minutes earlier than planned, while Edward is only too happy to have me back snuggling into his side. On the way to the airport, I try to get more details about his plans out of him but he doesn't budge, and the jet waiting at the private airfield doesn't give away much, either. He must have even tipped off the flight crew about keeping me in the dark because there are no announcements about our destination, or flight time, for that matter.

The first hint I get is that after about three hours we land to refuel, and if I'm not completely wrong, our journey takes us over the Atlantic Ocean. Once we're in the air again we retire to the surprisingly comfortable couch to take a nap, and when I wake up, we're already over Europe, the afternoon sun bright outside. I wonder briefly how badly jetlag will hit me, then a lot more about whether I will make it home by Monday morning with losing so many hours in transit, but as both are out of my control, I let the issues slide.

When the plane starts to descend, it's not hard to identify the city looming underneath us, hopefully our final destination.

"Paris?"

Edward nods, grinning as he pulls me closer.

"I hope you don't mind coming here? I presume it's not your first time in the capital of France?"

"Tenth, actually, but never just for fun. This is so awesome!"

He keeps smiling at my girlish exclamation, and equal deterioration of my language, and that smile doesn't leave his face for a moment, until we've arrived in our hotel suite.

_Hôtel de Crillon_, of course, because he knows how to travel in style. The Bernstein Suite, because apparently, money is no object. I don't even want to know how much a regular stay might cost, let alone how many months in advance you'd usually have to book it, and the stunning view of the Eiffel Tower from our terrace drowns out any protest that might have formed at the back of my mind.

After all, Edward is a big boy, if he wants to whisk me away to Paris and stay in what must be one of the most exclusive suites available, who am I to object?

"Like it?" he asks as he follows me outside into the sunshine, his cocksure smile as arrogant as it is sexy. Just to tease him I put on a mock pensive look, as if anyone wouldn't love staying here.

"I don't know, does this larger-than-life suite come with any extras?"

"There's a sauna and jacuzzi, if you mean that. At least so they told me, I haven't found them yet. You could help me look for them?"

"Later maybe," I reply coyly, then drop the act as I turn to gaze over the city again. "This is simply amazing."

"Glad you like it," he murmurs into my hair as he pulls me close, then places a gentle kiss just below my ear. "Do you want to take a nap now, or are you up for exploring the city a little? It's still early for dinner, despite the fact that we've had breakfast two hours ago."

"I'm all for exploring the city. I know I won't be able to sleep all night from the jetlag anyway, and there are a few things I can think of doing once we get to explore the suite, too."

I love how my suggestive tone makes his eyes darken, but we leave it at a couple of breathless kisses, the excitement makes me break away and run for my things to change into something less stuffy. When I re-emerge from the bedroom in a blue sundress and wedge sandals, I twirl for Edward, who seems comfortable enough in his polo shirt and khakis, and hand in hand like the lovesick fools that I feel like, we leave the hotel.

Edward leaves it to me to lead us through the streets, which considering the man doesn't speak a word of French is a very wise idea. While my grasp of the language is leaving a lot to be desired for academic discussions, it's sufficient to get us heavenly food and coffee, and I'm grinning almost constantly as we're walking along the riverbank of the Seine a couple of hours later. We laugh and tease each other in between our animated discussions of random topics and the sights around us, and I don't care how much we must seem like crazy tourists to everyone around us.

The sun is about to set when he stops again to simply enjoy the moment, and Edward uses the opportunity to wrap his arms around my waist and kiss me until I'm once again reduced to a giggling, breathless mess. He's clearly amused by my good mood as he reaches up and gently pushes a few errant strands of hair out of my face, but doesn't make an attempt to let go of me or resume walking.

"There's something I need to ask you," he eventually speaks up, his eyes never straying from my face.

"No, I've never been to Disneyland, I swear," I try to pick up a previous thread of conversation, but he ignores me, his grin toning down to a smile. I'm not sure how to react to that, my own smile faltering, and for a moment, he almost looks nervous.

"Nothing grave, I promise," he offers, his voice full of humor that makes me relax against him again.

"Okay. Shoot."

"First, you have to promise me something, though."

"Oh, a mystery then. Good, I like mysteries. What is it that I need to promise?"

"Only that you won't run."

His words confuse me, but it's easy to just shrug and keep on smiling.

"I think I can do that. Promise, I won't run. Now, what do you have to ask me that makes you go all mysterious and secretive?"

Instead of answering right away, he leans in to kiss me again, slow and languid, until I've almost forgotten what this is all about. His eyes briefly flit over my face, then catch my gaze, and he doesn't look away anymore as he poses his question.

"Bella, will you marry me?"

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><p><strong>See you on Tuesday!<strong>

**I'd love to know what you think!**

**If you're on facebook, you can find me there! (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)**


	19. Chapter 19

**Huge thank yous go to my wonderful beta, ****Cullen Confection, ****and my trustworthy cheerleaders, ****prassacut and chrissy1201!**

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><p>Isn't it funny how sometimes in life time seems to just slow down? Four simple words can trigger that, just like a car barreling, full speed, right at you.<p>

Right now, the analogy feels very accurate to me.

Edward's proposal doesn't come completely out of nowhere – Paris, insanely expensive lodging, the most self-assured guy in the world suddenly nervous, all those are clues that form a neat little package, if I had just wanted to see it – but it still surprises me. Shocks me.

My mind, used to latching on to the small details, first notices that he still hasn't let go of me, probably to help keep me from bolting. Not that I want to run, given promise aside or not, but in a way his touch is comforting, familiar, something that seems real compared to the surrealism of his words.

And I don't know what to say, how to react, because there's no script in Whore Academy 101 for situations like this. Yet, he knows me, seems to be able to read the stupor my mind is quickly succumbing to so well, and resumes talking when it becomes evident that I've pretty much swallowed my tongue.

"You don't have to reply right away," he offers, then gives me an almost boyish grin. "Actually, take your time, if there's ever been an answer I don't need blurted out, it's this one. I just wanted to ask you. Needed to, really."

He stops, then strokes his thumb down my cheek again as tension slowly leaves his body. I reach up and catch his hand, still unable to do anything except look back at him, and he smiles down at me with so much adoration on his face that I feel like I'm melting in the warmth of it.

No one has ever looked at me this way, and I'm not sure anyone will ever again, for that matter. It's as if I'm his sun and stars, his everything, and all the small doubts at the back of my mind just magically dissolve.

Guess going into shock feels like that.

Edward keeps smiling at me as he goes on, his voice soft, talking just to me.

"I know that we've only met a couple of weeks ago, and usually I'd say that things might have gone a little fast, but I'm not a seventeen year old boy anymore who's so wrecked by hormones that he can't make a sane judgment. I've met and dated enough women in my life to know that what I feel for you is different, special. Because you are special, and as much as the thought frightens me, I don't want to live without you anymore."

He stops to let that sink in, then resumes.

"I'm not expecting you to just drop everything and marry me right now, hurl yourself into a marathon of wedding planning stuff or jump on the next plane to Vegas, although if you feel like either of those options suit you, I'm all for it. I just want you to know how I feel about you, that's all. If you want to be my wife, today, or in ten years from now, I will be the happiest man alive. And while I freely admit that if you refuse that would be a real punch in the gut, I can take that, too. Just, you know, be your usual honest self and tell me, whenever you're ready."

I nod, because that's something I can do, and get rewarded with a small chuckle.

"Okay. Seeing as I've pretty much stupefied us both with my great statement, let's just pretend I didn't just do that and keep walking. People must be staring at us by now."

"Since when do you care?"

He laughs loudly, probably because of all the possible things I could say, this is what I go for, and I love that carefree look on his face.

"I don't. If you want to, we can just stay like this the entire night."

"I don't think I'd want that," I admit, then manage to tear my eyes away from his, but look back almost immediately.

"Say it again."

There's no sense in questioning his sincerity, so I don't, and really, I need to hear those words again. He humors me with a wide grin, leaning close so that I can feel his breath waft over my mouth.

"Will you marry me?"

This time the words cause the reverse reaction, finally letting my mind break through the wads of cotton candy having held it hostage for the last minutes. I feel the smile on my own face growing in return, just as I let go of his hand so I can reach up and pull his head fully down to me, the resulting kiss almost bruising with my need. I only stop long enough to pull back so I can focus on his eyes, seeing the laughter and joy so plain in them.

"Yes! Oh my fucking God, yes!"

"Now that's definitely the unedited version we'll one day have to tell our grand-children -"

I don't let him finish the sentence but kiss him again, and when even that doesn't satisfy my need for closeness, I pretty much jump him, my arms slipping to his shoulders while he catches my thighs to support me. We both laugh while we somehow manage to still keep on kissing, all needy and frantic, but at the same time without any drive to take it farther than that.

I have no idea how much time has passed – minutes, hours, eons – when I finally manage to stop trying to physically plaster myself as close to him as possible, and in almost weird synchronicity we step back, our hands on each other's head and shoulders remaining the only points of contact. I think I must be smiling as stupidly as he is, and that makes my heart soar even more. I don't remember ever being this happy.

"Let's go back to the hotel. I think I need to go look for that jacuzzi now," I eventually settle on saying, my mind still too far gone for anything more sophisticated.

"Gladly," is his only retort, and with his right hand wrapped around my left we start walking again. It's a miracle that we don't run into anyone, or get hit by a car, because I don't remember much besides the look on his face from the entire way back to our suite.

While I've been content to simply hold his hand and do nothing more, not even kiss, until we step into the elevator, I suddenly can't keep from touching him the moment the door of the suite closes behind us. His eyes widen when I turn on him and push him back against the door, then pretty much attack him with my lips and teeth and hands. His response is just as frantic as he pulls me close while at the same time trying to get my dress up and over my head, and we take at least twice as long to undress each other than it would normally have taken.

Finally, we're both naked, and I'm of half a mind to tell him to just fuck me against that door, standing within the heap of our clothing, but then I force myself to calm down a little. Edward looks confused and almost wounded when I push my hand against his chest, stopping him from picking me up and dragging me to the next available, hard surface, but when he realizes what the look in my face must mean, he quiets down himself, his hands relaxed at his sides while he gazes at me and where my hand is still propped against his chest. We're both panting heavily, and I love how for now that's the only sound besides the pounding of my heart that I can hear.

"This should be a special occasion," I remind him, while I let my teasing tone express that I'm not entirely serious.

"Sex with you is always a special occasion," he drawls back, opting to play along.

"Why, thank you," I snark, letting my smile dip into raunchier registers. "But I think we should make this special special."

"What do you have in mind?"

"That obscenely huge terrace out there, just how secluded is it? Can anyone see us if we're out there, stark naked?"

"Do you care? Because I don't."

I lick my lips while I lean closer to him, until my breasts rub against his torso with my hand now wedged between us.

"It might add to the thrill if someone could."

His laugh hitches a little, but it's obviously not a deal-breaker for him.

"So, outside then? A sentimental nod towards our very first time?"

"Something like that," I purr, then step away from him and take his hand to lead him outside. The air has cooled off somewhat, but it's still warm, and the view of the city is stunning, so much so that I almost change my mind. Edward lets me drag him along until we reach the corner of the terrace, and remains there with his ass against the stones of the balustrade when I push him against it.

"Hands up onto the railing," I direct, and when he follows my words to the letter, I smile up at him as I trail one finger from his chin down over his chest to his abs, my eyes intent on his. "Have I ever told you how hot your ability to restrain yourself makes me?"

His answering grin is smug, but disappears when his face goes slack the moment I wrap my hand around his hard cock. Sure that my message has been received, I kneel down before him, before I ease my grip a little so I can take the tip of his cock into my mouth. I can almost feel the groan he utters viscerally between my legs, having to fight a grin myself as I pull back a little, then push down more until my lips his my fingers. With my other hand, I reach for his balls to rub them slowly in time with bobbing my head up and down, until soon his soft moans and my inevitable slurping noises fill the night air.

I love watching him while I worship his cock, his muscles taut all over, his fingers digging into the railing as he tries not to let go. It's easy to work him into a frenzy, and I enjoy the power I have over him that way, particularly when I slow down a little once I taste precum on my tongue, to keep him from losing it too soon. His eyes flutter closed then while his mouth twists into something close to a smile, but a frustrated one.

"Evil!" he grunts, then utters a sound of pure distress when I remove my hand from the base of his cock, but his protest cuts off fast when I replace it with my hot, wet mouth instead. His body starts to tremble, and it must be costing him dearly to keep from thrusting his hips forward, yet he stays passive, letting me give whatever I want, his silent surrender making me wetter by the minute.

He lets out another groan of protest when I remove my hand from his balls, but he doesn't complain further as he watches me slide my fingers between my legs instead. Because of the position, he can't really see much besides my mouth going up and down on his cock, but the knowledge alone that I'm pleasuring myself while I'm sucking him off, seems to be enough to add that little extra bit that finally tears down his resistance. I can tell when he eventually gives in to the need, the way his body both relaxes while other muscles contract at the same time, but still he stays as passive as possible. I hum contently as I run my tongue along the underside of his cock, then keep just his head in my mouth while I vigorously jerk him off with my hand. Between the motion and my continuing suction, he quickly comes, a loud gasp accompanying his release.

I keep working on his cock until I feel the remaining tension leave his body, before I slowly get to my feet, kissing my way up his abdomen, one hand still wrapped around his softening cock, the other on my pussy. The sandals I forgot to take off leave us as almost the same height, factoring in his slumped posture, and he eagerly flicks his tongue between my lips when we're face to face again. Only then does he abandon his silent assent of letting me lead, but I certainly don't mind the sensation of his hands running up and down my back. Because we are so close now I attempt to withdraw my hands, but he stops me, his own stilling at my lower back.

"No, keep going," he murmurs against my lips, then deepens his kiss and moans appreciatively when I start stroking him anew. One of his hands trails upwards until he can cup my head, while the other slides down to my knee. At his nudge, I raise that leg until I find purchase with my foot on the railing, leaving my pussy conveniently accessible – a fact that he thankfully exploits almost immediately after nudging my own hand away.

I allow myself a breathy moan in response to two of his fingers sliding into me, while his thumb finds my clit. We keep on kissing and touching each other like that, both lost in the moment and utterly enjoying ourselves, although I guess that for him it is easier not to rush things than it is for me, seeing as he already came, while I'm still as wound up as before.

It takes some time but eventually he responds to my incessant stroking, and once his cock gets hard again, his patience seems to wear thin rather quickly. I almost laugh with delight when the signs of his need become more obvious, in the way his lips become bruising against mine, how he increases the rhythm in of his fingers, how his hips jerk forward to make me speed up myself. I try to play dumb and keep doing what I've been doing for the past few minutes, until he budges under strain and pushes me away with a frustrated grunt. For a moment I'm afraid I will lose my balance, but his hands around my uppers arms steady me immediately, yet before I can smile at him with gratitude, he uses my momentum to turn us around while flipping me over, so that I end up with the rail digging into my abdomen, the metal cool under my touch where I grab it for support.

The view of Paris, brightly lit in the dark of the night, makes me pause for a second to admire all the beauty even in my lust filled haze. Edward, not yet done with taking the initiative, shamelessly abuses my moment of distractedness, grabs my hips and steps between my spread legs, my shoes adding just enough height to make the move possible with relative ease.

My breath hitches as his cock slides into me, and I have barely enough time to moan before he starts fucking me in earnest. One hand on my shoulder, he puts his other arm around my middle to both keep me steady and where he wants me, and once he feels my hips meeting his with eagerness, he pushes his hand downwards to rub my clit.

I come embarrassingly fast, and with a lot less embarrassing cry, but he keeps going, that way both drawing out my orgasm and helping the next to build up. Before he climaxes himself he pushes his torso flush with my upper back, his breathy pants so close to my ear only spurring me on. The night air is filled with that wonderful slap of flesh on flesh and our heavy breathing, and very soon the keening noise my voice box produces when I come again. Only both of his arms around my body keep me upright long enough for him to finish as well, before we end up, almost boneless but quite satisfied, in a heap leaning against the balustrade.

Minutes pass in which reality slowly seeps into my bliss filled world, the sounds of the city pushing our heavy breathing into the background. Edward eventually shifts his position when he can support his weight more easily again so that he's leaning less on me and more cradling me in his arms, as we keep gazing out over Paris. Sweaty all over, and soon shaking from the cold and exhaustion alike, I eventually turn in his arms.

"Guess that qualifies as 'something special'?"

"Definitely," he agrees, then kisses me slowly, gently. While I would love to do nothing else the entire night, the dropping temperature soon sends us scurrying inside, and after a quick shower we finally make it to the promised land of the not-that-hard-to-find jacuzzi.

Jetlag eventually hits us both with a combination of hunger and weariness, both fueled by round three in the jacuzzi, and round four on the bed. I can barely keep my eyes open long enough for room service to bring up some food that is neither qualified for dinner nor breakfast, and once my stomach is full, I'm happy to curl up in Edward's arms and fall asleep, a content smile still on my face.

Xxx

I wake up some undefined time later, and with no alarm set and my phone miles out of reach, I have no idea how late it is, and how much time has passed since I've dozed off. I remember that it had been completely dark outside, or as dark as the sky in a busy city gets at night, while now the diffuse light of very early morning filters through the curtains.

I'm alone, the bed next to me still warm, and at first I think that Edward must have woken up to use the bathroom, yet when he doesn't return after what I think is at least ten minutes, I get curious. A quick glance reveals the bathroom dark and empty, and through the open doors I can't see light spilling from anywhere else, but as I get closer to the entrance, I hear his voice coming from what the floor plan tells me is the dining room.

For a moment I feel weird about snooping, but I'm still curious, and abysmally awake for what is way too early in either the local time zone or the one my body is accustomed to. Trying to be as silent as possible I creep closer, until I can hear his words more clearly. He's completely naked, leaning against the table as he gazes out onto the terrace that previously doubled as our own personal playground, one arm across his chest, his phone in the other hand. He seems relaxed, but there's a certain tension in the set of his shoulders, making me wonder even more what this is about.

"I asked her to marry me last night," he murmurs, and even with the dim light I can see a quick smile crossing his face. "And she said yes. I really didn't expect her to, not this soon, but I guess I must have done everything right." He chuckles softly, then falls silent. Sounds like he's talking to Esme, which wouldn't surprise me after what she told me before the fund-raiser. I'm about to turn around and leave him to his call, when his next sentence makes me stop in my tracks.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

My stomach knots up and a shiver runs through me that has nothing whatsoever to do with the slight chill in the air. The sound of my inhale is deafeningly loud in the following silence, and I'm sure that he must have heard me, but when I glance over at him, Edward is still staring out through the glass door, oblivious of my presence.

"You don't have to reply, I know how that must seem to you. But I also know that you would want to know, so this is me, telling you now."

He's silent, then looks at his phone, hits a key and holds it back to his ear. I wonder for a moment if whoever he was talking to hung up, but he resumes talking soon thereafter, no indication of any kind of disconnect in what he says.

"She's different, you know? I think you'd really like her, although I hope you'll never meet. You know how that goes. Nine weeks is quick, but not everyone's like you and prefers a lengthy courtship. She's more impulsive, and not so damn insecure. Yes, she's different," he repeats. Another stretch of silence follows.

"Anyway, that's why I called. It's not too late in the evening over there, I hope? I just had to talk to you." Silence again. "I'll better hang up now, before I wake her. You know I'll always love you, right? Bye, Tanya."

He hangs up, and remains leaning there; his shoulders slumped, as he keeps staring at his phone.

I don't know how to react, but one thing is clear, the last thing I want is for him to catch me eavesdropping on that very conversation. Trying hard not to make a sound, I pad back into the bedroom then slip under the covers, but the warmth of the cotton and silk doesn't reach below the surface.

I'm foremost confused by listening in to his side of the phone call, and surprisingly for me, part of me is hurt. I can't really do much about the former, but as the minutes tick by, get irritated at the latter. Whoever Tanya is, and whatever she is to him now, I will not let a few disconnected statements negate what I know is true – that he loves me, that he wants me to be his wife, that he told me scant hours ago that he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, and I know, just know that none of that was a lie. I've seen him skirt the truth on various occasions with others before, but he's never been anything but completely honest with me, and I have no reason to doubt him – except for that damn phone call.

In a way, I guess it should be a wake-up call for me. It makes me realize that while at times I feel like I can read him so well and know the important things about him, there is a lot more to Edward than the few weeks have let me explore so far. I know who he is right now, but still know very little of the man he used to be before we met.

There's a simple explanation for that – I myself prefer to live in the moment, and one of the things I love so much about him is that he doesn't constantly see me in the light of what I've been doing for years, but instead takes me for who I am now. There have been very few opportunities for me to pry into his past, and more often than not I've let them pass, glad to avoid the return question about my own past. I'm not ashamed about Tom, Phillip, or Sam, but if I can avoid talking about the disasters those relationships turned into, I'm very happy to go that way. In the light of Carlisle's last attempt to drive a wedge between Edward and me, that reasoning even makes more sense. Breakups are more often than not painful, and while he might not be outright hiding anything about his past flings, he might not enjoy scratching those wounds, just like me.

Thinking along those lines helps me calm down again, but the knot in my stomach doesn't disappear. However I try to reason with myself, the fact remains that I wouldn't want to tell any of my exes about my relationship with Edward, and even less end that conversation with a profession of ongoing feelings.

Maybe I'm reading too much into it, maybe it was just a phrase, mere words that don't mean anything anymore now that he's with me. But I don't know, and I hate not knowing, and even more than that, I hate feeling so damn insecure about everything all of a sudden.

Eventually, sleep is starting to drag me under in spite of my roiling mind, just as Edward returns. I don't have to feign much for him to believe that I'm still out cold, and the warmth of his embrace, and the kiss he places oh so gently on my shoulder, helps scare away most of my doubts. But I still don't know, and that bothers me, and even when I feel myself slip away for good I realize that, one way or another, I will have to deal with this.

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><p><strong>See you Friday! Because people keep asking, right now it looks as if the fic will come down to roughly 30 chapters, so there are another 10 to go until the end!<strong>

****I'd love to know what you think!****

****If you're on facebook, you can find me there! (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic)****


	20. Chapter 20

**A loud squee for my tireless cheerleaders, prassacut & chrissy1201!**

**A huge THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed last time – I sadly didn't get to reply to all of you, but please know that I read and cherish all of your reviews! And an even huger TY goes to the couple of people who actually commented on Bella's answer to the proposal, the romantic sap inside of me is still grinning!**

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><p>As they say, tomorrow is another day, and when I wake up to the wonderful scent of fresh croissants and coffee, the entire issue with the phone call seems like a bad dream, no longer important in the light of day, and quickly fading. Technically, it's even still the same day, but it's hard to hold on to any kind of negative feelings with the sun shining outside and a wonderful man kissing me awake.<p>

And, fact is, for years I've lived well with focusing on the good things while trying to ignore the bad, and whoever that Tanya person is, I'm determined not to let her ruin our weekend together. Even more important, now that I think about Edward's words again it is obvious that, whoever she was to him, I'm his present and his future. I won't be threatened by ghosts from his past.

The breakfast waiting in the dining room is lavish, taking up a good portion of the table with all the different platters alone. I can't stop grinning while I try small bits of everything, and I keep catching Edward beaming a similarly goofy grin at me whenever I look at him, despite his apparently futile attempt of reading his newspaper.

The call last night made me realize that there are some things about him that I don't know yet – and while I nibble on some _pain au chocolat _I can freely add a lot of items to that list like best friend in high school, first crush, why he chose to become the workaholic he is today instead of pursuing something else – but there is no doubt in me that he loves me, and that, while maybe seeming rushed to some, his proposal was genuine. I can still see that in his smile, in the way he looks at me, and I feel like I would betray those feelings if I let a name and out of context phrase make me doubt him.

Still, of course I'm curious about who Tanya is, and who she is to him. He's old enough that it could be a daughter, but what I overheard makes that unlikely. A friend, sister, or former lover of whatever degree of familiarity seems more likely, and the more I think of it, the less threatened I feel. If she's that important to him still, I'm sure that I will soon hear something about her, and if not, I'm certain that Edward will tell me about her if I ask. That I even worried in the first case makes me feel stupid now, and I decide to let the issue rest for the moment. Another of those girly girl phases that I hate going through, and if I can sneak this one by him without having to 'fess up, I can spare myself another gentle chide from him, which suits me just fine.

After burning some of the calories that we've just consumed in a somewhat more leisurely fashion than passion drove us to last night, we hit the streets again to enjoy the city some more, walking hand in hand and stealing kisses whenever possible.

As much as the time difference seems to have stolen from our weekend at the beginning, we still have the luxury of spending the entire day, evening, and part of the night in Paris before we have to board the jet home. It has only been two days, but they feel like a short, yet all the more wonderful eternity for me, cushioning the blow jet-lag will inevitably land.

Monday morning comes too early, too bright, with not enough sleep on the flight and barely enough time to grab a shower and change before I have to be on my way to work again, half an hour later than Edward, who went right to his office after dropping me off at my house. I'm not even any longer surprised to find the snazzy, orange Audi waiting at the curb, ready for me to drive wherever I need to go. The only strange thing is that the car already feels more familiar than the house I'm leaving behind, and a new grin tugs the corners of my mouth up as I wonder when Edward will ask me to move in with him. That he will, and soon, isn't really a question.

I'm a little late when I make it into the driveway of Esme's mansion, and the only one I encounter on my way upstairs into the dining hall doubling as a meeting room is Carlisle. He offers me a toothy grin that's bordering on a smirk, but otherwise ignores me, just as he has been doing the entire time since Esme offered me the job. In the light of what I've gleaned from our talk in the spa, she has likely put a muzzle on him, not that I mind. For a second I'm even tempted to shout after him that I'm engaged to Edward now, but then bite down hard on my tongue and keep going – this is one satisfaction I won't give him.

I'm the last to join Esme's team around the table, and after a small smile in my direction she gets up and launches into a brief recount of the final numbers the fund raiser made, then moves on to splitting up work between all of us. Twenty minutes after I stormed in, I'm already on the way back to my car, one of the other girls riding with me to the office building in the city center.

I haven't had time to say anything to Esme about the proposal, or even ask her whether she knew about Edward's plans or not, and I'm glad about that when the girl keeps talking my ears off about how perfect, and dreamy, and all around gorgeous my fiancé is. Not that she knows about that status, but I do, and the term is so unfamiliar that I earn a couple of weird glances when I laugh out loud at the sound it has inside my mind. Sadly, that does nothing to shut the girl up, and we can't get through the heavy Monday morning traffic fast enough.

Five hours and three cups of strong coffee later, I look up, ready to delve into the new stack of files Marcy just dropped off on my desk, when I find Edward grinning down at me. I almost yelp in surprise, but am able to catch myself. He chuckles softly when I push back my chair and raise my eyebrows at him.

"Not that I'm protesting being graced with your magnificent presence, but what are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd take you out to lunch."

"Just like that?"

He shrugs, then looks over his shoulder at the other women working in the office, who have, miraculously, found a reason to mill around the other side of the room, staring intently in our direction. Or at Edward's ass, which amounts to about the same.

"Do I need a reason to ask my fiancée out for lunch?"

A collective gasp answers him before I can, and when he turns back to me, satisfied grin on his face, I don't know whether to kiss or slap him; both seems equally appropriate.

"I haven't told them yet!" I hiss instead, trying to tone my voice down so they don't catch it, but I doubt anything I could have said or done right then would have registered with them.

"Now they know," he offers cordially, his grin widening, before he steps back and dramatically holds out his arm to his side. "So, will the future Mrs. Cullen accompany me to lunch, or not?"

I'm still irritated by his antics, but have to laugh at them at the same time, and as it's obvious that, either way, I won't be doing any work in the next hour, I stand up as gracefully as I can and accept his arm.

"Who says I'm going to take your name? You can really be so full of yourself, it's astounding!"

"Thank you for noticing," is his only comeback, and then the elevator doors thankfully close between us and the other staff members. I send Edward a long look but don't let go of him, and he seems smugly satisfied about that, as well.

I'm a little surprised when we don't exit at the parking level but the ground floor instead, but the restaurant he leads me to, in easy walking distance, at the top of one of the more exclusive looking office buildings around, comes with an amazing view. We're seated in a less populated area, mostly out of earshot of the other guests, and after taking our order and bringing a bottle of sparkling water, the waiter leaves us to ourselves.

"I almost can't believe that you made time for this," I remark, then look closer at Edward when I notice that his humorous air dims somewhat. "Unless, of course, you have a good reason for it?"

"Let's say that I had a lengthy talk with Esme that, I think, would have turned into a lengthy reprimanding speech if I hadn't promised to do my very best to make all my so obvious shortcomings up to you as soon as possible."

That causes me to blink, and I don't really know what to make of that statement.

"I'm not going to have sex with you here, if that's what you have planned."

For a moment he looks almost shocked, then starts laughing when he realizes that I'm joking.

"I really hope that that's one area where I'll never leave you mourning any shortcomings," he remarks, then narrows his eyes playfully. "I am pushing all the right buttons when I bend you over random balcony rails, right?"

"I'd promptly inform you if you didn't," I yip back, then take a sip from my water. His answering nod is almost grave, before his easy grin returns. "So what is it that you almost got reprimanded for neglecting?"

"Well, for one thing, I didn't get an engagement ring for you."

I shrug.

"Do people do that outside of cheesy Hollywood movies and jewelry store ads?"

Now his laugh sounds relieved.

"I was wondering that as well, and hoped that you would see that issue the same way I do."

"Which is?"

"Optional."

"Ah," I reply sagely, then cock my head to the side as I try to give the topic some thought. "I seriously haven't considered it. I guess like any other woman I won't say no to a pricey piece of jewelry?"

I make that a question, mostly to prompt his opinion on return, and he inclines his head.

"Any preferences? Do you want to choose, or leave it up to me? Although the fact that I wasn't even sure if I should get you one or not should make it obvious that my knowledge about such things is very limited indeed."

"I think I should think about that a little," I decide, then wonder who I could ask. Rose? Only if I want to sit through hours of scorn. Esme? As much as I feel I can confide in her, I don't know if I want her opinion. Jane also comes to mind, but I haven't talked to her in weeks, and while we get along great, that doesn't mean this is a suitable topic.

"Do that. I guess I don't have to add that money's not an issue?"

The way he's wriggling his eyebrows makes me laugh, but I aim for a derisive snort.

"And next you'll tell me you'll rent an entire island in the Maldives for our Honeymoon so that we'll be all alone!"

"If you want to, I can arrange that right away."

While I think he's joking – although I'm sure that if I said the word, he would do that without a second thought – the subject sobers me up rather quickly now, and I feel almost queasy for a moment.

"Shit, this is really going a little fast for me."

His grin softens to a smile, and he looks almost concerned when he leans over and kisses me gently.

"I told you before, there's no deadline to that offer. Don't stress yourself about it. Whenever you're ready, you tell me, okay?"

I nod, then force myself to take a few calming breaths. "Okay."

Our food arrives, and we both dig in, glad for the respite as much as for the distraction. Edward's previous goofy grin resurfaces, and widens even more when I daringly steal one of the olives from his plate.

"First my heart, now my food, where will this lead? Should I be starting to be concerned?"

"Don't forget your car, I don't intend to give it back anytime soon! It has a magically refilling tank, after all." The thought that James must be driving the car to the gas station every couple of days under the cover of night, grumbling under his breath, makes me crack up.

"I told you it's yours if you want it," he repeats our early conversation.

"Just as well. I certainly won't look that gift horse in the mouth. Although, I guess it says a lot about me that I care more for the car than the ring," I admit, snickering.

"That you're a very practical woman with a wonderful taste," he drawls, then steals another kiss from me before returning to his meal.

"Is there anything else besides that? You could have waited for tonight about the ring." The fact that he stops chewing, then swallows slowly tells me that he's not done yet, and when he catches my gaze again, the look on his face makes me pause. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he presses out, then sighs and rubs his eyes. "Me failing to think of the ring was one thing that Esme chided me about. Me failing to think about a prenup right away was the other."

I'm waiting for him to say more, but he doesn't, which makes me frown eventually as I reach for his hand and squeeze it gently.

"There's no question, of course there will be a prenup. There's simply too much riding on your finances not getting torn up by something as easily avoidable as a divorce settlement."

Edward looks more relaxed already, although the last part brings a wry twist to his mouth.

"I think you must be one of the least romantic women I've ever seen if you can talk about divorce in the same conversation as about your engagement ring."

Not entirely sure how to take that, I go for a flippant sigh.

"And there you just told me how much you love my realism. You're a very hard man to please!"

"Say 'hard', 'man', and 'please' in the same sentence again and I'll see about that fucking in public remark from earlier," he growls, then turns an almost sweet smile at my momentarily stupefied expression. "More water, dear?"

"You can be quite insufferable, has anyone ever told you that?"

"You, repeatedly, I think, but like with everything else concerning you, I just can't get enough of it."

"Charmer!" I huff, then finish my penne primavera. Our empty plates are removed and the waiter brings desert, a delightfully rich chocolate cake. Edward seems bemused as he watches me groan over the heavenly dish, and when I eye him askance, he clears his throat.

"I'm glad you understand why I need to cut back romance in the light of the future of my business. Not that I really expected you to balk at that in general."

"Then at what detail do you think I will?"

"Might," he corrects, smiling at what I guess is my keen deductive sense. "The standard form that my attorneys advised me to use for a basis comes with a fidelity clause."

He pauses there and waits for my reaction, but like before I'm a bit at a loss for what he thinks that will make me do.

"And?"

"That means that once we're married, we're both obliged to only have sex with each other, and no one else."

"Yes, I think that's what 'fidelity' usually implies," I remark, still not quite getting it. "And?"

The fact that he almost starts squirming is as endearing as it is disconcerting, but when he finally cuts to the chase things start to make sense.

"That also means that you can't keep working as an escort, unless, technically, I approve every appointment you make with a client, and I'm not sure if I could do that once we've been together for a while, or maybe even have children."

"What, you really think I'd whore myself out with a baby at home?" Unfamiliar as the thought is to me, it also horrifies me that he'd think me capable of that, and right then I don't care if my shout turns heads, or not.

"No, of course not, I was just -," he starts, then cuts off, almost as anxious as when he popped the question that started all this. "I just don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you to quit, and take away your independence."

My mind is still reeling, but reason catches up with me fast, and I quickly stuff another piece of cake into my mouth to gain a couple of seconds to compose myself. In a way, I even feel smug to have managed to get him this flustered about something.

"You don't make me feel that way, don't worry," I assure him once the cake has gone the way of all cakes. For a moment we just stare at each other, I think both a little taken aback at our own reactions, before he relaxes with a still slightly strained laugh.

"Good, because that really wasn't my intention."

Silence falls, a little awkward, and I decide that, as right now seems to be the moment to discuss such things, it's just as well that I push forward.

"So, is this also the conversation where you ask me to move in with you, or shall I make room in my busy schedule for that at a later date?"

I don't even know if I want to abandon my cozy home for Edward's gargantuan mansion, but the way our talk has been going, the topic seems to fit – and unlike with the prenup, I can't really think of any inherent pitfalls to come with it.

"Do you want to? You know that you're always welcome, and you stay over more often than not anyways. You've even commandeered part of my walk-in closet already, I figured the rest would just be a gradual process."

"Okay," I shrug, agreeing with him. "The rent for my house is paid until the end of summer, I figured with as many nights as I'm not at home I didn't want to miss my landlord evicting me accidentally."

"I think all your belongings strewn across the lawn would give something like that away?"

"You never know."

xxx

I get back to the office fifty-five minutes after Edward whisked me away, and instantly feel guilty when I see Esme perched at the edge of Marcy's desk, regal in her power suit as only she can be. Five pairs of eyes turn to me, expectant and hungering for gossip, and I feel utterly at a loss. Gossip between Rose and me, or even me and one of her other girls, has usually been sex related, but on a very impersonal level. The few times clients really got under my skin weren't moments I wanted to share, or of the positive kind anyone would want to gush about, and like so often of late I feel like the new girl on her first day in school.

Thankfully, Esme is wonderful at playing the headmistress who doesn't deal well with idle chatter.

"There you are. Do you have the reports ready I asked you about? I want a detailed recount in my office in five."

I'm sure she hasn't left me anything to write a report about, but still feel guilty of having disappointed her, until I catch the twinkle in her eyes. I eagerly nod, then bustle off to my desk to grab random folders and papers, and with no word to my colleagues flee to the confines of her corner office right away.

Esme is already sitting in her chair, at ease but not exactly relaxed, and the way she looks at me reminds me a little of a cat studying a mouse. I offer her a smile that she echoes, but not quite as warmly as I know it could be, and I hurry to take a seat as well.

"I presume your lunch went fine?"

I could play dumb now, but in the past she has never really appreciated that, so I cut right to the point.

"I don't care that he didn't get me a ring, of course I'll sign the prenup if it doesn't actually leave me worse off than I am now, and I considered the entire fidelity clause thing a given the moment I said yes."

She nods, but her eyes remain fixed on mine, unwavering.

"For every year of your marriage you'll get a hundred thousand, plus one percent of his income, should it ever come to a divorce. If it's you who defaults, cut the extra. If he cheats on you, round up to a full million a year. You won't get a better deal with your past."

I wonder briefly how much of it is her idea, but I don't care either way.

"I'm not marrying him for the money."

"Honey, if you knew how much he makes in a year, you would. It's about as if he was paying your old fare year round, plus expenses."

Her statement hurts, and for once, I'm not about to let it slide.

"Just because I've been a whore for almost the entire last decade doesn't mean I can be bought!"

"So the car, the house, all the traveling, that means nothing to you?"

I shake my head, then laugh almost harshly when she keeps looking at me levelly.

"I enjoy luxury just as much as anyone else, but I don't need it. Ask your husband, my entire house is almost exclusively furnished by IKEA and Home Depot, a house that is smaller than the office space here alone. I don't come from money, that's why I know how much having it is worth, and what it can buy, and love is not on that list. I've saved up almost half of what I've earned, and I've never had to cash in that reserve before. Fifty percent of every blowjob, of every time someone fucked me in the ass is safely stored away, and it's enough that if I can live without a Donna Karan bag and a Diane von Fürstenberg gown I don't have to work a day in my life anymore. I said yes to the man, not the money, and if you imply again that I'm lying, I'll be very happy to settle my self-righteous ass somewhere else than out there."

I don't think that a single thing I say fazes her, but I'm a little surprised when her smile turns genuine once I'm done.

"Then we understand each other perfectly, I see."

"That's it? That's all you're going to say?"

One well formed eyebrow rises, and that smile turns sharp, with more than just a little hint of teeth.

"Call it a test, if you will. You've been around the High Society long enough to know that power and money are like cards to them, to hoard and hold close, then play at just the right moment. I can't have a greedy gold digger get in the way of Edward's business, but a comely housewife to raise his children would be almost as bad. He needs someone strong, but loyal; don't think I forgot how you stormed out of my dinner party, because that was a woman he doesn't need. But I like how you just got in my face, there's still hope for you."

The cold calculation in her words almost makes me shiver, and none of what she says does anything to ease my mind.

"So you, what, give your approval to our union?"

"Your glibness does you no credit," she murmurs, but then her gaze softens again. "I've been playing these games almost my entire life, Bella, and I've seen many break on them. If you can't be loyal to a fault to him, cut him loose now. It will hurt, but it will go away, and it will be best for you both. Others have tried before you, and the fact that you are standing here should tell you that all of them have failed him."

I know that she wants me to back down, but stubbornness alone keeps my head held high.

"I won't."

This time I can't say for sure whether she believes me or not, but the entire soap opera feel of this conversation makes me wonder why I even care. There are moments when I feel like we could be friends, but really, she is Edward's confidante, not mine. We don't have to be friends – I just don't want to be her enemy.

"If that's all, I have some real work to do."

My remark amuses her, but the humor doesn't reach her eyes.

"The be a busy bee and get it done. Oh, before I forgot, your friend Jane called while you were gone."

"Did she leave a message?"

I know it's rude to imply that Esme took it, but I figure that she wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise.

"Oh, she did. She wanted to thank you for the generous donation Edward made in your name for two of her paintings. She wants to meet for drinks. Do you think that could be connected? I just wonder, because I got a similar call from her earlier. She's such a sweet girl, isn't she?"

"Thanks," is all I get out before I turn around and walk out, my back so straight that every step almost jars my entire body.

I don't know what to make of that conversation, or the neat note on my desk stating Jane's message. Both leave me confused – and more than a little conflicted – but at least I can use the time I spent at Esme's office as a shield to fend off the others who still want to know all the details of my engagement.

It's close to eight by the time I leave the office, and for once, I'm the last one to go home. 'Home' for tonight is my house, because I need time to think, time on my own to get my thoughts in order. When I tell him on the phone, Edward sounds a little dejected but he assures me that he understands.

'Home' doesn't really feel like home anymore, though, when I sit down, wearing an old pair of sweat pants and a washed out t-shirt, a tub of Chunky Monkey my only comfort.

That is, until there's a knock on my door.

At first, I don't even want to get up. With lights on all over my house I'm guessing that it must be Jasper, trying again to ask me out, probably disguised as an act of neighborhoodly comfort. Another option is Rose, who I haven't talked to in ages, and that for a very good reason. I doubt that it's Jane, but she could have gotten my address from the course books, or Esme herself – I'm sure that she knows where I live, as well.

The knocking doesn't stop, and considering how last time went that I sat here, all dejected, I finally get up and walk to the door. Right now I would even welcome James, making him sneer at me would serve as a useful distraction.

Yet when I open the door, it's Edward, a bag of take-out boxes in hand, who is standing on my front porch.

"What are you doing here?" I ask a little dumbly, making him smile in return.

"You should know by now that I don't take no for an answer, if I can help it."

I blink, then stare stupidly at the food.

"What's that?"

"It's Monday, James's night off, remember? As much as I'd like to live on air and love alone, I need some sustenance, and I figured that if millions of people live on that stuff, it won't kill me to try it once."

I don't care about his explanation, but the gesture behind it shines through all too plainly. Whether Esme told him how our talk went, or if it's just a lucky guess, he must have realized that I'm hiding from him and the world – or more precisely, his world – so he didn't hesitate a moment to leave all that behind and instead try to live in mine, or what he probably assumes to work just as well. It doesn't matter whether he succeeds or not – what counts for me is that he tries; and it counts a lot.

"Do you want to come in?"

He hesitates, and I feel a lick of doubt gnaw on the glow inside of me, but when he catches my gaze again, there's anguish there, something I've never seen him show me so openly.

"Bella, I love you, I want to spend the rest of my days with you, and I promise you that it's not a lie when I tell you that I don't give a shit about what you've done before we met. But I can't sleep with you in the same bed that he fucked you on."

Carlisle, again, throwing his shadow over our relationship, without even having to move a finger. Why I ever worried about Tanya when I have a much more substantial adversary to my happiness right in front of me more often than not, I don't know.

Edward's voice is deceptively low as he finishes, but that doesn't diminish the pain it holds. His words shock me, but there's a tiny bit of me that's oddly happy to hear them, to see him act so human, his usual calm and iron resolve all but gone.

"Let me just grab my coat, okay?"

He nods, waiting patiently for me to get my coat and purse. I don't bother with my car but head straight over to his, holding the fast food boxes on my lap the entire ride.

He's needy that night, hungry for my touch like seldom before, and I can't help but wonder what brought this on. I'm glad that he came over, because concentrating on him keeps me from mulling over my talk with Esme, and in the end I feel like I'm craving the warmth he's giving me physically as well as emotionally just as much as he does.

We end up tucked tightly against each other, his arm heavy over my ribs, his breath warm against my neck, but I can't fall asleep yet, and as I can tell that he's just as awake as I am, I finally voice what has been clamoring inside my head for hours.

"I don't think Esme wants us to marry."

Edward utters a small sigh, then shifts slightly so that a nudge from him makes me roll onto my back, coming almost face to face with him.

"She speaks very highly of you to me," is what he offers in turn.

"She didn't sound too impressed today."

"Do you care? What she thinks?" I don't miss the fact that he doesn't ask what she said. Maybe he already knows.

"I don't care what anyone thinks except you."

Even in the dim light filtering in through the curtains I can make out his smile.

"Then I have nothing to fear, I guess?"

"No." I shake my head.

"Good," he murmurs in return, then leans down to kiss me gently.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

It's strange how his words shut up the nagging voice inside my head, but I guess that's what love is all about, right?

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><p><strong>See you next Tuesday!<strong>

****As always, ********I'd love to know what you think!****

****If you're on facebook, you can find me there! (personal acct: Daria Chenowith / fic updates: Daria Chenowith Fanfic) ********I****

****If you want to talk about the story, or pretty much anything else, feel free to jump me when you see me online! I try very hard not to drop any plot related spoilers, but besides that I'm game! ********(and I'm on gchat, too, if you prefer that)****


	21. Chapter 21

**Hugs go to my wonderful beta, Cullen Confection, and my trustworthy cheerleaders, prassacut and chrissy1201!**

**Thank you all for leaving so many delightful reviews! You're a great audience! :)**

* * *

><p>The next morning dawns bright and early, and once I've had my shower and first mug of coffee, I can actually appreciate it, as it is. What I also appreciate is the fact that Edward takes the time to drink his coffee with me, instead of heading right out to work as usual. Even ten minutes spent sitting together in amicable silence makes me go all fuzzy and warm, and it's definitely something I could get used to.<p>

Ever the gentleman, he offers to drive me back to my house from whence he whisked me away last night so I can drive to work myself. Just before he gets back into his car, he stops and turns to me again.

"Why don't you take a little time to start deciding what to bring over to my place? It was your idea to move in with me for good, you might as well do it sooner rather than later."

The mischievous wriggle of his eyebrows that accompanies his words makes me laugh, but as appealing as the idea is, I simply don't have the time for it now.

"I have to go to work, remember? Working for your esteemed friend and mentor, I might add."

Edward sighs, I guess at my tone, but he doesn't repeat his words from last night. He doesn't need to, I know that he sees Esme in a different light than I do.

"I'll call her to let her know that you'll be a little late. That should give you about an hour."

I try to protest, but he silences me with a kiss, and I stop resisting after that. And why should I, to him she won't be snarky, and the idea of spending every morning with Edward like today is incentive enough for me to want to hunt for the moving boxes right away.

"I probably won't be late either way," I offer after glancing at my watch. With him being a truly early bird, I've rarely had a chance to even be late, with yesterday the only exception since I started working for Esme.

"I'll call her anyway," he promises, and then he's off, leaving me on my doorstep.

Last evening, my house has been my respite, my hidey hole from the world, but in the soft light of the new day the dishes still standing on my tiny kitchen table seem so foreign and out of place. Over the last week the entire house has slowly started to empty itself as I've taken more and more things over to Edward's, and once an article of clothing gets anywhere near James and his dry cleaning habit, I don't feel the need to bring it back to my house again. The things that remain are mostly books and mementos, besides the basic furniture and dishes. My former home has become an empty shell, and while I still feel a little more comfortable around the simple familiarity of it all, there's no real reason for me to linger.

Half an hour later there's a single box sitting on my bed, holding the most important things I just can't do without, while three more are on the floor, ready to be donated to the next shelter. Edward might be less of a snob than a man of his standing might be concerning my old clothes, but I'd rather lounge on his deck wearing something that screams less 'white trash' than what little comfortable, old clothes I have, although I'd love to watch James iron my old pink track suit pants.

Ignoring that childish urge, I pick up the box to take it downstairs, feeling a little weird about just how light it is. A couple of photo albums, some childhood trinkets I cannot do without, and five of my favorite books are what is inside, and while I fully intend to bring all of my cheesy romance novels with me later, it's strange how few personal things I feel I want to hold on to. There are more, of course, stored in my old room at my dad's house, but glancing into the half empty box now I realize just how static my life has been when the most recent photograph I value is my graduation day family portrait, about the only time I've seen my parents together in one place since their divorce twelve years ago. With no family nearby and very few people close enough to be considered friends, I feel like I can wrap up the entire last eight years rather easily and that realization leaves me a little bleak. Then again, now with Edward in my life everything is changing, and while not all is entirely for the good, it's definitely the kind of progress that feels healthy. Empowering. As if until he stepped into my life I was just biding my time, and now I can finally start living.

Halfway on my house between the door and my car I hear a door slam to my right, and when I turn my head, I see Jasper coming down the stairs. He smiles at me and waves, then quickly comes over to take the box from me so I can unlock the trunk and store it inside.

"Long time no see. I was already starting to wonder if I should go check your basement to see if some axe murderer or something left you there in pieces," he jokes, or at least I think he's joking. It's hard to tell, with all the awkwardness and barely hidden puppy dog eyes that's emanating from him, although he seems to try to tone his neediness down. As always, I feel a pang of misery deep inside my chest, although I know that I've never done anything to lead him on, or make him jump to the conclusion that he has a chance with me. It's not my fault that he's wasting his time mooning after me, but if my last rejection hasn't gotten through to him, I don't see how a repeat performance will help.

"I'm mostly staying over at my -"

I almost say 'boyfriend's,' but at the last moment change it to, "fiancé's."

Jasper's shoulders sag, although he tries to hide it with a laugh, but the forced sound just makes it all worse.

"Lucky guy."

I'm not sure who's really the lucky one, Edward or me, but that's none of Jasper's business. Trying to be subtle in ending the conversation I glance at my watch again, then pointedly look at the car.

"I'd really love to chat more, but I'm afraid I need to go to work."

"This early?"

"Well, it's pretty much a nine to five job, so, yeah, I should be going now."

My words confuse him, I can tell, but he meekly steps out of my way so that I don't have to walk around him to get to the door.

"Oh, before I forget, how's your tablet working now? Did the reset work?"

"No problems at all, thanks to you working your magic."

I know it's wrong, but I still beam a bright smile at him.

"If you have any tech problems, you know where to find me. As always. Not going anywhere," he rambles, then winces at his own words. "Just, you know, have a nice day!"

I wish him the same, then get in my car quickly and drive off. I miss chatting with him, and unlike the house, he's part of my old life that I can't leave behind with as much ease as my old coffee mugs, but the last thing I want is to lead him on any further. He's a good guy and he deserves a shot at meeting a nice girl; the sooner I'm out of his life, or at least safely out of reach, the sooner he'll maybe notice the girl at the coffee shop batting her eyelashes at him.

In the end, I'm not even late when I get to the office, and I'm already settled in when Esme swoops by, all business and bustling with energy. Our talk from yesterday seems all but forgotten, judging from the smile she graces me with on her way to her secure corner away from us worker bees. I try hard not to frown, and work easily distracts me from wondering about her. Then again, it's entirely possible that all she wanted to do was make sure that I really meant what I said – I'm marrying the man, not his fame, fortune, stock portfolio, or whatever else he's coming with that might be desirable, and it would be highly stupid of me to be blind to the additional baggage he brings along. In a way she's right, if I let a little ignorance from people at my old life faze me so much, I have to learn to get a thicker skin, or I'll drag both myself and Edward down eventually. And Edward said that she seems to be impressed with me, so maybe I should stop seeing the worst in her words just because part of me is still waiting for her open approval of me to turn into something more sinister.

Paranoia, more often than curiosity, killed the cat, if you ask me.

I'm silently laughing at my own antics when my phone rings, but when I go to pick up, the stupid thing simply shuts down entirely. Karma at her bitchiest, of course, because I had to run into Jasper this very morning, when only two hours earlier he could have looked at it right away.

Still hoping that whatever is wrong with the stupid thing will just miraculously disappear, I take out the battery and leave it shut off for a while before I re-assemble it and turn it on again. No luck, though, the screen keeps shorting out, and whenever I put it too close to the computer, weird sounds escape the piece of shit electronics.

"Something wrong, Bella?"

I grunt, then shrug as I look over to Diane's desk.

"Some trouble with my phone. The stupid thing has been acting up for weeks. I swear, I should stop shopping by brand name, there's always something broken with that stuff."

She grins, although I can't tell whether it's in agreement, or if she's simply amused at my grumbling.

"There's a great retail store around the corner, they also do repairs quickly when you can't wait the months it takes for the warranty protected things to be sent in. I'm sure that if you bring it in now, you'll even beat the lunch time crowd."

"Thanks, but I know a guy who can fix it just as well."

Diane laughs, but keeps nodding towards my phone.

"Maybe, but when will you see him again, and when will you have the chance to get your phone back? You can't just hide in radio silence forever, you know?"

She's right, already there's a chance that I might miss a text from Edward, and because I'm apparently a 14 year old school girl, that bothers me enough to get up and grab my phone.

"I'll be back in a few."

Diane's advice seems sound, and the guy at the counter reminds me so much of Jasper that I'm almost tempted to ask whether he knows him. My business suit is probably the reason why he doesn't even launch into the condescending questionnaire I've been used to from similar guys before I met Jasper, and in short order my phone gets scrutinized.

"If you have another couple of minutes, I can check right now to see if there's a quick fix. Maybe just something with the firmware."

The fact that his technobabble seems almost familiar is as comforting as it is disconcerting, and I agree to stay a little longer. Sadly, Jasper seems to be the better tech wizard, because after ten minutes the guy shakes his head.

"Nothing obvious, but if you leave your email address and maybe your work number, we'll get back to you as soon as we find something. If we have to wipe it, we'll preserve your data on a portable USB drive."

"Sure," I reply, a little dejected at not being able to carry the object of my worst co-dependency back with me. "But you don't have to bother with the data, there can't be much on it, I haven't even taken a picture since the last wipe."

The guy looks up from where he's been typing at lightning speed, but then nods, now seeming a little more like the Nerd God talking speaking to the customer imbecile.

"If you say so, ma'am. We'll contact you."

I thank him and am just about to go, when something occurs to me.

"If it's a computer virus, should I leave my tablet with you as well? Same brand and I have both connected to the same computer, and it's been acting up a bit as well."

"Can't hurt to check."

He types in the additional information, then hands me a new printout in exchange for my other piece of semi faulty technology. I'm halfway of a mind to joke about the GPS in the car maybe also shorting out of me if I'm around it too much, but hold that back, he might even take me seriously.

I feel vulnerable and alone without my phone, much to my co-worker's sympathy and amusement, but thankfully, there's enough to do to keep me quite busy. Even though now things are a little more relaxed than before the fund raiser, there's a lot to do, and with no kids at home to wait for me, and Edward likely to work even longer hours than me, I'm again the last one in.

I'm about to leave when my desk phone rings, and I dutifully pick up. It's the repair guy, and his cryptic words makes my stomach sink already. I really liked that phone, but it seems like he's about to offer me a new deal.

"Ms. Swan, do you have time to come by the shop to discuss this? We're open for another hour, if you can make it."

I do, and much to the displeasure of the other customers there, he leaves his post as I enter, and invites me to join him behind the counter at one of the closed stations. I curiously eye my phone and tablet, both still connected to their computer, the words on the screen of course not telling me anything.

"May I ask you a question before I go over the 'faults' in your phone?"

The fact that he looks almost gleeful and does actual air quotes slightly irritates me.

"If it gets my phone repaired faster, why not?"

"Do you work for the FBI, or CIA, or whatever, recruiting, I mean?"

I blink, not sure what to make of that. Of all the weird things I've expected, ranging from the odd number I've forgotten to delete or some weird kind of virus I might have snatched up at a site no honest, nice woman should ever visit, that's a far shot from that list.

"Uh, no? I work for a charity foundation?" I half ask rather than tell him, simply because I'm so confused. For a moment he seems to consider whether I'm somehow testing him, but I must be looking so clueless that he eventually believes me.

"Do you have any enemies? I know, that sounds weird, but my supervisor already considered calling the cops, but that would go a little far beyond our customer confidentiality clause."

"What? Why?"

Now I'm starting to get nervous. On the one hand, the question about the enemies in connection to the three letter agencies would throw anyone off, I guess, but considering how many years of my life I've technically been breaking the law on a daily basis, involving the police in anything is the last thing I'd want. I'm almost sure that I've kept all the records of my clients strictly offline, for situations exactly like this, but I honestly don't remember anymore.

"Because of the software that we've found on your phone."

Another idea seeps in, probably because paranoia is slowly making clear thinking hard.

"I swear, I've legally purchased all the music and books on there, I can show you my credit card statement."

He blinks, and for the first time seems to evaluate his cryptic clues and how they might seem to the uninitiated.

"No, no, it's nothing you've done. There's first grade spyware on both your phone and tablet, and when I say first grade, I mean MIT top-of-class kind of good. Took two of our best people the entire afternoon to decrypt it. We actually have a bet running whether you're a recruiter, or from our customer service evaluation department. They regularly send us a rouse to check if we're as good as our advertising claims to be."

"I assure you, I'm affiliated with neither."

My voice is so soft that I wonder if he even understands, but I'm so distressed by what he says that I almost don't recognize the concern on his face.

"Ma'am, do you want to sit down? I can grab you a coffee or something. We might even have some donuts left, although those might not really make things better."

"No, no, I'm good," I assure him, then latch on to the only thing in this that makes even a least bit sense.

"You said spyware? What kind of spyware? Like a virus?"

He shakes his head, and his continuing enthusiasm doesn't really help much to calm me down.

"No, it's not even entirely software based, both devices have an extra microchip in them. Home built, but very high quality."

"What does that mean?"

"Pretty much that the entire time you were using the devices, they've been logging and sending data. GPS coordinates, everything you've typed, all phone calls, incoming emails, everything. Someone's been following your every step very, very closely."

"Are you sure? I mean, why should anyone do that? My amazon newsletters are not that interesting," I try to be witty, but what I am is really, utterly scared. Someone's been stalking me, and not even at the already creepy level of sending a private investigator after me. "Why should anyone do that?"

He shrugs, my distraught questions making him uncomfortable.

"Someone in your past, maybe? Jealous ex-boyfriend? Or someone who's trying to get at someone else over you? I'm not a philanthropist, but the Platt foundation is one of the most influential charities in the city, maybe someone's trying to get some inside info?"

For a moment I'm getting even more paranoid because he knows where I work, but then I remember that I've left one of my new business cards with him, spelling out all the details to anyone with half a mind to read it – which he must have done, seeing as he called the provided number.

"I've had problems with both longer than I work for Mrs. Platt. Do you know how long this has been on my phone?"

"Sorry, can't tell you. The software's programmed to wipe itself after every twelve hour increment, the only reason why our people even found anything was because they cloned the entire system and something went wrong with that because the system was trying to connect to a server without a SIM card in the phone."

I don't need to understand his words to make sense of them.

"It was an accident that you found it, then?"

He shrugs, pretty much confirming my guess.

"Fifteen minutes later, and they'd likely have missed it. There's no way to say when the chip was installed, only that it had to be done manually. Did you leave your devices anywhere unattended for a longer time? A retailer, or repair shop?"

"No, I've never had them fixed anywhere, my neighbor always -"

And that's when the pieces connect. My mind grinds to a hold for a moment, and I blink almost stupidly at the service guy. He seems to understand the part I didn't get out before my mind goes into shock, and his gaze turns truly sympathetic.

"Ma'am, you should contact the police. Do you have anywhere else you can stay tonight, because, quite frankly, I wouldn't want to let you go home right now."

I nod numbly, then accept his offer to use their phone. My fingers are shaking almost too much as I punch in the number, and thankfully Edward picks up almost immediately.

"I'm just on my way home, do you want to go out for dinner? I happen to have made reservations at that restaurant you were talking about the other day."

I feel myself smile in spite of myself, he can be so thoughtful when my mind doesn't turn his bootie call fantasies into something weird.

"Can you just pick me up?"

"What's wrong?" He sounds alarmed almost immediately, and I hear brakes squealing and some hushed cursing from him as he probably makes a U-turn at the next intersection.

I give him the address but I'm too out of it to properly reply. And he's fast, I haven't even finished the cup of coffee yet when Edward comes charging to my rescue, his usual calm ruffled by my distress. Even concerned as I am, his entry makes me grin, and he looks more like his usual composed self when he sees that I'm unharmed.

"Bella, what's wrong?" he echoes his previous question, and when I can just look dismally at my bugged equipment, the repair guy helpfully explains. Blocking out the words, I instead concentrate on Edward's reaction. He takes the news better than I have, but then it's not his phone that someone turned into a one-way stalking tool. While he seems to take in the information without much ado, I can tell from the set of his jaw and the light frown on his face just how pissed off he is, and he quickly thanks the entire team and commends their quick action.

"I'll take care of this," he nods at the devices. "Can you include a detailed recount of your findings that I can hand over to the police as well? No need to hold up your business any further with this."

I'm glad that I don't even have to touch the phone anymore, and Edward, ever thoughtful, asks me which new one I want, but I'm not in the right state of mind for such decisions. Instead of bothering me further with this, he ushers me outside to his car, still parked haphazardly across the sidewalk where he apparently left it. Only after making sure I'm properly belted in, he snatches the ticket from underneath the windscreen wiper and gets into the driver's seat, then effortlessly pivots the car into the moving traffic.

I'm so numb that I don't even realize that he's driving straight home, and only when we wait for the gate to open, do I realize how that deviates from what he told the repair guy.

"I thought you wanted to drop that off at the next police station?" I nod accusingly at the bag on the back seat. Edward stills, then turns to look at me fully, emotions warring on his face before it settles on a soft, soothing smile.

"If I wanted whoever did this to you to get away, I'd have done that, yeah. First, I know the Police Commissioner personally, and a matter this grave is nothing that I will let just any random paper pusher at a precinct handle. And second, I'm sure the people from my own tech department will want to take a look at it first."

"Why not let the police handle that when you have leverage enough to assure it gets handled?"

His sigh is almost condescending, and when I frown, he grimaces.

"Bella, do I really have to spell that out?"

"Excuse me, but the fact that someone has been fucking spying on me for who knows how long is freaking me out a little!"

He doesn't react to my scathing tone, but my distress seems to make him rethink.

"We don't know who is doing this, and for how long. Chances are that someone will dig deeper into your past if they find out that it's not just a very recent thing. Do you really want to spend our honey-moon and the next ten years in jail?"

"They can't arrest me without concrete evidence," I reply, somewhat lamely, but I see what he means.

"All they need is one of your clients making a deal with them, and you'll take the fall. Please, let me handle that? I really don't want to lose you because of a technicality like that."

I nod, then hide my face in my hands.

"Shit, I can't even think straight!"

"I know, and that's why, just for tonight only, I'll do the thinking for both of us, okay?"

"Okay."

Once inside, he leads me upstairs after a couple of hushed instructions to James, and starts running me a bath without me having to ask him. While I luxuriate in the bubbly warmth, he spends an entire hour on the phone, then leaves me alone to hand over the equipment to one of his tech guys, from what I manage to glean from the calls. James seems even close to friendly when he brings me fresh coffee to my bedside, and I'm happy when Edward joins me once he has taken care of everything.

"Do you have any idea who might be behind this?"

With hours to get over the worst of the shock, my mind is swimming with theories, but more often than not they center around the same culprit. For whatever reason, I'm hesitant to utter any of them aloud, though.

"Bella? Please? You probably know whoever did this a lot better than I do. Stalkers usually go after someone they know, and we don't really share all that many acquaintances."

"But he could really have been after you, only that my stuff was easier to reach and less suspicious than yours," I ramble, part of me hoping that that's true.

Edward nods, and I appreciate that he doesn't just discard the theory.

"True, but most people aren't aware of the fact that you pretty much live here. And while your stunt at Esme's dinner party a while back might have made some frown, it just underlines that we probably don't spend much time together besides screwing around in various places all over town. This sounds much more personal to me than anyone's attempt to get at me over you, don't you think?"

I have to admit that he's right, even though I would have preferred that theory to what looks more and more like the truth.

"It could be anyone holding a grudge. That I quit, I mean. Rose told me that a couple of my former clients kept asking for me. And there's always Carlisle."

It would be so easy to bedevil him, but I'm sure that if he really wanted to stalk me, he'd do it in a manner that is more obvious. After the length he has gone to screw with Edward, a simple bug in a phone seems too subtle for him. Then again, he has the money, and I'm sure also the opportunity to snatch my phone. The phone Edward handed over to his guys is probably not even the phone I got months ago, but got switched for the original. Even I can dissemble a phone and get the SIM card into another one in under a minute.

And although I don't say it aloud, everything that speaks for Carlisle, counts for his wife, as well.

"I don't think it's him," Edward agrees with my silent assessment. "If he was stalking you, he'd probably send you flowers, turn up at random places to spook you, or try to manhandle you again. I think he knows that he has lost, but because he's the scumbag that he is, he can't publicly admit defeat. This sounds more like what someone would do who wouldn't want you to know that he's following your every move."

The way he keeps looking at me, I feel like he knows that my real suspicion lies elsewhere.

"There's also my neighbor."

Edward frowns, then raises his brows.

"That Jasper kid you mentioned?"

I nod, then screw my eyes shut.

"It can't be him! I know, everything points at him, he fixed my stuff before, he's working in IT, and he's kind of a loner, but you don't know him. He's a really nice guy, always helpful. And I just ran into him today, if anything he seemed sad that I wasn't hanging out with him as much as I used to, but that's it. No weird glances, no anything. That's not the kind of guy who stalks someone."

Only silence answers me, and when I remove my hands and look at him, Edward looks grim.

"You hang out less with him and suddenly your phone ends up bugged? Makes perfect sense to me."

"But he knows that I only see him as a friend! I told him so a couple of weeks ago myself!"

"Some men just don't handle rejection well."

I still shake my head, even if he makes perfect sense. Edward pulls me closer in silent support, letting me process it all on my own time, even if I can tell from the tension I feel in his body that he would love to do something, although I don't know what else he could do besides calling his tech guys and shouting at them to work faster.

The idea that I've been living next to some kind of psychopath makes me even more glad that I have Edward, and besides the box in the trunk of my car almost everything I need is already here. If I don't want to, I don't even have to return to my house at all, and even less so alone.

Then something else occurs to me.

"Shit, do you think he knows what I've been doing all those years?"

"Judging from what that report said about those chips, he would know each of your steps."

I feel my hands grow cold at that, but in a twisted kind of way, it also makes sense. I've always tried to keep my clients from coming to my house, but there always were a couple who preferred it, and the same black Mercedes parked at the curb each Friday morning for two years straight does speak a rather plain language. Others of my neighbors, like that snoopy, old hag that died three years ago from across the street, wondered quite openly about that to me sometimes – but I don't remember Jasper ever saying a peep.

I'm almost of a mind to call Rose just to ask her if she ever got a call from his cell or land line, when it occurs to me that there's someone else besides Jasper who might have a great interest in keeping track of my every step. Someone who has an entire page in her phone book full of numbers of professional PIs, and less reputable sources, who makes it her personal agenda to know things about people, and always keep track of her girls – so make sure that they are safe, and control them at the same time.

"You think it might be your former madam?"

I exhale slowly, then catch his gaze again.

"Am I that obvious?"

"You just got really white in the face, and I don't know many people who's betrayal could hit you that hard."

Swallowing thickly, I nod.

"It could be her, I mean she has motive, money, and everything, but it doesn't really sound like her. But I really don't know."

Suddenly I'm glad that he hasn't handed all of this over to the police, and not just because it might mean some prison time for me. I'm sure that if she gets arrested, Rose will have to take that fall because she's in too deep to get her neck out of the noose, but she's also very well connected, and while I've always considered her partly my friend, I could see her sending someone after me to make me disappear if I were the reason for that fall.

"I don't want you to go to the police with this."

"Why not? If we find a sure lead to her, they'll lock her up fast, and I'm not above bribing the right people to make sure you'll stay out of it. When they have a much bigger fish to catch, they'll not latch onto you that hard."

I keep shaking my head vehemently.

"I don't care. Even if it was her, she let me go without a single threat, and she only seemed concerned for me. I'm done with her, and I guess the fact that I don't have that many problems with not seeing her again should be enough to make even me realize that maybe that's a bridge I should burn and never look back. She was there for me when I needed her, but she hasn't been supportive of any decision I've made that didn't in any way help her, that's not a friendship I feel like I need to preserve."

Taking another deep breath, I reach for his face, and kiss him softly.

"I'm not telling you not to investigate, but it doesn't really matter who did it. Now we know, and I'll just get that new phone, and maybe a new number as well, I'll move in with you, and then all the ties to my old life are cut. Not everyone gets a chance to just start anew one day, but I did, and I think I should really take it and not half ass it by hanging on to anything that happened before I met you. I'm not that woman anymore. I'm yours."

Wise man that he is, he doesn't protest, but lets my eager tongue and hands distract him easily. I really mean what I just said, and I can tell that he knows – and appreciates – my resolution, and I love him even more for the fact that he supports me every step of the way.

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><p><strong>See you Friday!<strong>

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	22. Chapter 22

**Phew, this chapter really held me hostage for days. Couldn't have done it without my wonderful cheerleaders, prassacut & chrissy1201!**

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**Now, people have been talking about this story getting 'angsty' a couple of times before – if you ask me, I still gotta earn that ;)**

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><p>I wake up with my pulse thundering in my ears. That I've slept at all feels like a small miracle to me, but it hasn't been anywhere restful, just an endless array of nightmares. Someone is chasing me, just out of sight, but I know that I need to run, or else. And he's always catching up.<p>

I hate dreams like that, but for once I don't have to guess hard what's causing them.

The alarm going off has seldom been such a wonderful sound, but the moment I have a reason to get up and try to shake off the grasp restless sleep still has on me, my will to do so falters. I don't want to get up, I don't want to go to work, and, most of all, I don't want to face a world where someone out there is really watching my every step, just like the lurker from my dreams.

After a gentle good morning kiss on my bare shoulder Edward gets up and disappears into the bathroom, but I remain lying in bed, not even trying to feign being asleep, but not ready to get up, either. The last few weeks have been one crazy _tour de force_, and I tell myself that I deserve some rest. And really, there's no need to get up and work at all, it's not like I'll need the money after marrying Edward, and the entire trauma of being stalked would surely make him water down his stance on me being his kept woman...

It's that last thought that makes my mind grind to a halt, and I feel ire rise at my own whiny, simpering self. Never before have I defined myself by being someone else's creature, and I won't let some creepy, deranged nobody out there push me into that role now. Having a stalker might be scary as hell, but it's not the end of the world, and I won't let this break me, or even get to me any further.

Driven by my own indignation I haul myself out of bed and into the shower, where my vigorous scrubbing all over does a lot to dislodge dead skin cells, and by far not enough to chase away the ghosts of last night, but my resolve is up, and that's enough to carry me on.

Edward joins me after he's done shaving, and I appreciate that instead of our usual groping, he gently massages my upper back, trying to get the kinks out of my muscles. I gladly relax into his touch, feeling warmth spread through me on the outside just as well as on the inside. I even manage a languid smile when he is done and turns me around to kiss me. He looks slightly worried as he pulls back again, too observant to miss my distress, but I do my best to put on my tough girl face.

"Thank you for having my back. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He smiles back briefly, then kisses me again, with a little more heat this time, but I ignore the silent invitation, and slip out of the shower instead of letting things progress further.

Finding something to wear is hard, because everything short of kevlar armor makes me feel as if I have a target painted on my back, but eventually I find something to suit me. The dark gray, pinstriped pencil skirt and royal blue blouse are some of my favorite clothes, and I can't even remember how often I've slithered out of them in front of the lusting eyes of my clients. Feeling the familiar fabric on my body, all straight, conservative cut that underlines my femininity is somehow empowering to me today.

I'm just done applying makeup when Edward steps up to me and embraces me from behind, his chin coming to rest on my right shoulder. We lock gazes over the reflection in the mirror, and I offer him a brave, if still a little haunted, smile.

"Beautiful es ever," he comments, then plants a soft kiss on the side of my neck. I lean into him, relaxing into his body, and for the moment feel safe and at home. That slowly dissipates as he steps away and gets ready to go downstairs.

Breakfast is a little tense, although the warm coffee helps to calm me, but the brief phone call Edward takes leaves me more on edge than I'd like. From his, "Do you know anything concrete yet?" I figure that it's about the bugs, and he only needs to shake his head at me to convey that the last hours haven't yielded any news.

Because my car is still in the parking deck at the office, Edward drops me off there before he drives to work, and I'm for once the first one in. The silent, empty office space creeps me out, and instead of working productively while I wait for the others to come in I spend my time shuddering at every noise I hear and looking over my shoulder way too often. Only when the office is bustling with activity a while later I finally relax and allow myself to calm down, and I almost believe that I've fooled my co-workers into thinking that nothing is amiss at all. They don't really know me, and there could be a million things that might make me jumpy, there's no reason for anyone to suspect anything.

When I return from my lunch with Marcy and Diane, Esme is in her office, and a package is waiting on my desk. I curiously remove the wrapping paper, half afraid that suddenly my until now completely silent and hidden stalker has gone into full horror-movie-esque psycho mode. It turns out to be a phone, complete in the factory sealed box, and after my heart stops tripping over itself I realize that it also comes with a note.

_'So I can always tell you that I love you, whenever I feel like it. _

_- Edward'_

I laugh out loud, elation coursing through my veins, when I realize that it's from him, and I figure that someone at the store must have written it as I neither recognize the handwriting, nor does it sound very personal. There's also a new SIM card in an extra envelope, all set and ready to go.

Once the phone is powered up, I call Edward, strangely elated that I can do that from my own phone again, and don't have to use the office land line.

"Hey there," he greets me, his voice warm with the smile I see him donning in my mind. "I see you got my little present?"

"I did. Thank you."

I try to sound sincere, and while I'm really happy about the phone, the fact that I'm once again carrying something around with me that someone might track me with is having me a little on edge.

"If you don't like it, I can get you another one, too."

"Or I could just go out and get one myself."

I don't really know where that comes from, but all of a sudden his overtly expressed need to coddle me is getting on my nerves. Already I feel guilty about that less than grateful reply, and Edward sounds a little guarded as he goes on.

"Or you could do that. It's from the shop you were at yesterday, so feel free to just drop by and exchange it for a different one."

Scrunching my eyes shut I take a deep breath, then exhale slowly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I'm just a little on edge today."

"Bella, it's okay, I know you are, and I truly understand that. I just thought it was a nice gesture, that's all."

"It really is," I sigh. "Thank you. Again."

He laughs softly at the frustration in my voice.

"Don't beat yourself up over it. I don't know when I'll be home tonight, but I'll try to make it there earlier than usual, so we can just curl up in front of the TV and relax? Unless you want to go out and grab dinner somewhere?"

"Curling up together sounds great." Already I feel a little better, but then I can't hold back the question that has been gnawing on me the entire day already. "Did your people find something?"

Edward is silent for several seconds, then he utters something between a grunt and a sigh.

"Nothing conclusive yet. But they think they have a lead."

"A lead?"

My stomach knots up upon hearing that, but Edward's evasive answer doesn't help one bit to make me feel any better.

"I'll let you know as soon as I learn more."

I nod, even though I know he can't see it, while a shiver runs up and down my spine.

"Thanks."

"See you in the evening then? Do you want me to pick you up again?"

"No, I'll drive home myself. I can't get that co-dependent on you this early in our relationship, or you'll dump me because I'm too clingy," I try to joke, but even to me it just sounds awful.

"I'd never do that," Eward is quick to assure me, then he laughs softly. "Well, see you at home, right?"

"Sure. And thanks again for the phone, even though I must be sounding like the most ungrateful brat ever."

We say our good-byes then, including sweet words of our mutual adoration, but my stomach doesn't stop knotting up, even when I shut off the phone and take the battery out again. The veneer of my calm is shattered, and suddenly sitting at my desk and working on that report is the last thing on my mind. My fingers start drumming on the light wood, my foot is tapping when I don't concentrate on keeping still, and every noise around me makes me want to hunch my shoulders.

"Bella, do you have a minute?"

I almost jump up and scream when Diane appears behind me, and although I try to smile at her as she walks around me, I can see that I'm not fooling her in the least.

"Sure, what do you need?"

"Is something wrong? You seem so preoccupied today."

I shake my head, but when I see that she doesn't buy it, I go for the next best evasive answer.

"Nothing important, just some personal stuff."

"Why don't you take the afternoon off and get that out of the way if it's bothering you so much?"

"But I'm not done with work yet."

My reply sounds lame even to me, and the wry twist that comes to her mouth tells me that she knows that, as well.

"You'll never be done with work here, because work keeps piling up faster than we can ever really get it completed. You've been running yourself ragged the past weeks, and you're of no use to anyone if whatever is upsetting you that much doesn't get resolved." She pauses, then picks up a thick envelope from the desk next to mine. "If you need a valid reason to leave early today, someone needs to drop this off anyway. I'd otherwise give it to a bike courier, but if you want to do it instead, be my guest."

I glance at the address, then take the envelope with a nod. Some law firm a couple of blocks down from our office, I could even walk on foot. Maybe a little time outside will help.

"No problem. But you're really sure that it's okay if I leave early?"

"I am. And if you worry about Esme, she has an appointment in twenty minutes that she should have left for ten minutes ago already, so she won't notice if you stay until later, or not."

As usual, Diane is right, and after Esme has left the building I finally give up on my report and get ready to run my little errant before I can head home.

Only that a block down the street I have to admit that my plan of taking a walk is a bad idea, seeing as it only puts my paranoia fueled brain into overdrive. Everyone looks at me, and I'm convinced that all of them are out to get me. The more reasonable explanation – attractive woman walking down the street, people minding their own business and barely glancing at anyone – is obvious, but doesn't calm me down one bit, and I'm almost running by the time I reach my destination. The receptionist thankfully doesn't ask why I'm casting looks around like a madwoman, and the moment I'm outside again, I hail a cab. Only there, in the familiarity of years spent in those backseats to and from appointments I find a little calm.

"Where to, Miss?"

I smile at the driver, then open my mouth to give him the address of the office building, but halt before a single word can come out. While my heart is still thudding in my chest, I feel irritation overtake me, and in a split second decision give him the address of my old house instead. That doesn't really help me relax, but I'm already so sick of feeling scared, and that's one place I feel like I can face my fears. My mind is still awash with possibilities, that if my phone and even tablet were bugged it would have been easy to do the same to my entire house, but I can't go on jumping at shadows.

The afternoon traffic is already thick enough so that the ride takes a while, and I think about calling Rose in the meantime. Even though I've considered her as a possible culprit the night before, the more I think about it, the less likely it seems. I wouldn't put it above her to do something like that in general, but I don't think she'd do it to me. She's bitchy by nature, and a control freak by habit, but if anything, Rose has always seemed to care about me, and she never did anything to fuel my paranoia. Very likely, if she had deemed any kind of tracking device necessary, she would have given me some kind of transmitter to put in my purse, or hide in my clothes.

The more I think about her, the more I realize that I genuinely miss her. The line between work and friendship has always been blurred, but since I've come to deal with a lot of people of late who I might have considered befriending, what we had looks different to me than it always has before. With Rose, her bitchiness has always been a front – just like she said to me herself, I needed her to be the pimp I can hate when things are less than comfortable to keep my own sanity. Still, I've always known that I can trust her, that she won't send me anywhere where I might be in any kind of danger, and she has never really done anything to make me doubt her. Even with Edward, and while I don't approve of her methods, I can see where she thought it was a good idea to drive a wedge between us. I miss her, and I really want to call her, both to know that she has nothing to do with the bugs and to have a shoulder to cry on for a minute or two, just to cope with the stress.

But I can't, because I also know how that meeting would go. She would be supportive, then she would disagree with my choices, and then she would nag at me until my raging paranoia got redirected at the one target I need it to stay clear of – Edward.

I've always trusted her assessment of men in particular because she's good at it, but I know that she's terribly prejudiced when it comes to him. She dislikes him because she thinks I'm too caught up in my naïve love spell and need saving, and she has made her solution for that problem known often enough. She sees her own mistake in me and would try to righten the wrong done to her – but I won't let that happen. Maybe a couple of months down the road we'll find a way to connect again, but right now it has to be enough that I feel like she's not one of those out to get me.

My mood is more glum than agitated by the time the cab reached its destination, and I quickly pay the driver and get out before I can change my mind and tell him to drop me off at Edward's instead. In the light of day the house looks as it always has – none too shabby, but certainly not what you'd expect a former high class escort to inhabit. For the first time I notice that the roof needs to be repaired, and the paint job of the upper floor windows needs to be redone, but otherwise it's the same cozy little hovel that I fell so in love with when I saw it the first time.

Only that now it feels more like a haunted house than anything else.

Goose bumps march up and down my arms when I walk inside, finding the kitchen exactly as I've left it. Earlier this week it all felt unfamiliar but still warm, but now even that is gone. There's nothing left that keeps me here, and even though I love moving in with Edward, that thought saddens me.

My gaze skims over to the window, and I shudder involuntarily as I look across the lawn at Jasper's house. I've been there so many times, talked to him more than anyone besides Rose, but now I can't stop wondering if it's all just been the game of a very strange mind. I'm normally good at reading people, and I've long known that Jasper must have had a crush on me, but I would never have guessed that it could bloom into such obsessive behavior as to bug my equipment and stalk me that way. He also took my outright rejection better than most men I know, which also doesn't really fit the image of the deranged psychopath, laying in wait for me somewhere.

All of a sudden the need to confront him becomes overwhelming, and I'm halfway to the door before I can stop myself. Jasper is one of the few people I'd hate losing as a friend if my suspicion is wrong, and I know that if I just blurt it all out that is exactly what will happen. Another reason why I hesitate is that I don't know how I will react if I find out that it wasn't him. While creepy, Jasper being my stalker would be the safe thing; misguided puppy love aside, he has never done anything to harm me, and I don't see that changing now. I've known him for years, and never picked up a dangerous or even aggressive vibe from him, and if I'd consider anyone in my life completely harmless, it would be him.

None of the alternatives is anywhere close as plausible, but also as easy to deal with.

I've already done a good job talking myself out of confronting Jasper – at least today – when movement across the lawn catches my attention. Instinctively, I shy away from the window as not to give away my presence, but I can't help glancing outside to catch a glimpse of my possible shadow.

Only that it's not Jasper leaving his house. It's James.

Another cold shiver runs through me as I watch him walk to the nondescript car parked at the curb between Jasper's house and the next. He's wearing black gloves that he's right now wiping on a handkerchief, then pulls off before he opens the back door and drops everything inside. He doesn't look back but gets into the car right away, and I never see his face clearly before he drives off, but I would recognize that posture, rigid with permanent disdain, everywhere.

And suddenly, everything is so much more complicated.

The weirdest theories start running rampant in my head, but I force myself to remain calm, and try to think this through.

I myself identified Jasper as the most likely candidate, and Edward mentioned that they had a lead. All wild guessing aside, that leaves two theories that sound at least moderately likely. One, the inconclusive lead has in the meantime turned conclusive, and Edward has sent his trusty butler to either investigate, or directly bribe the likely stalker into silence. And two, James was acting on his own volition.

As much as it's easy to believe that Edward would do something like that for me, after keeping the investigation private and away from the police, the more I think about it, the more likely it seems that this could really be a plan between James and Jasper. While neither really seems to operate under any kind of malicious intent, they both would profit in their own ways if Edward and I broke up. And what better way to facilitate that than keep track of my every move and prove that I've relapsed into my old ways or otherwise cheat on him? James would only be too happy to get rid of me in such a way, and Jasper might see his chance as a supportive shoulder to cry on.

I really can't say which disgusts me more right now.

It's indignation that drives me out of my house and to the one across the lawn, and I already have my fist raised and ready to give way to my anger by pounding on the front door until Jasper opens it, when I realize that there's no need for it – the door is open. At my gentle prod it creaks inward, and my stomach sinks. This just doesn't feel right, and even though I try to hold on to my rage, it slips through my fingers like water.

"Jasper?"

I don't get an answer, and after debating with myself what to do I finally enter, slowly, immediately wishing for my baseball bat that I keep beside my own front door. Then again, coming into someone else's home with a weapon at the ready might lead to a series of unpleasant misconceptions, so I don't turn back to fetch it.

The hallway looks just like always, as does the adjacent kitchen, but to me the house seems eerily quiet, my steps the only sound. For a moment I wonder if he's even at home, but there's a steaming mug of coffee on the kitchen table, and I've never heard of breaking, entering, and coffee making charges.

When the kitchen yields no further clue as to Jasper's whereabouts I'm tempted to slink back to my own den, but a crash coming from my left keeps me rooted on the spot, my heart thudding in my throat. Ever so slowly I creep towards the living room, then look inside as I hold my breath.

The comfy couch and TV area seem untouched, but when I turn my head to where Jasper's Holy Grail of a workstation used to be, I only see chaos and smashed equipment. With my breath catching in my throat I slowly look on, not wanting to see any more, but incapable of just turning around and leaving.

There's blood on the table, and a smear on the floor, like a hand print, besides the bunched up carpet. And half sitting, half lying on that carpet, propped up against a book shelf, is Jasper. I gasp involuntarily at the sight of more blood staining the front of his nerdy t-shirt, coming from his broken nose and split lip. But what's almost worse is the mixture of blind fear and utter disgust that he's looking at me with, from his one eye that isn't already swelling shut.

"Go. Away."

His voice comes out pressed, laced with pain and a lot of emotion, and it's almost enough to make me backpedal and run for good now. But while my mind is screaming at me to do the sane thing for once and flee, I can't just let this go, I _need_ to know what has happened here.

"Are you okay?"

A quite moronic question, but about the only that I can come up with, although he obviously isn't.

"Get. The fuck. Out of my house!" he screams, or tries to, but when he has to inhale midway through the sentence he shudders with pain, and the rest is just a pressed whisper. Finally I'm able to overcome my salt pillar state and walk over to him, but he tries to shy away from me. "Don't touch me!"

From the way he keeps clutching his side I gather that his face didn't even bear the brunt of it, and he whimpers when I gently hold his shoulder.

"Let me see -"

"No!"

He tries to fend me off, but he has barely enough strength to knock my hand away, and his agitated breathing sounds ragged from up close.

"Please don't!" he finally whispers, his gaze catching mine, and it's the emotional agony in his voice that makes me pull away for good.

"I'll call an ambulance," I offer, but before I can straighten, he reaches for me, his fingers wrapping around my wrist surprisingly strong. I stare at them, his knuckles white under the blood caked skin, before I look at his face again.

"Don't. I'm fine. Just go." He draws in a rattling breath, then adds, "Go, and never come back. I don't want to see you anywhere near my house ever again."

I can tell that he means the words, even though they obviously upset him, but whatever happened to him must have scared him more than his puppy love draws him to me.

"But you need medical attention," I try to reason with him, but he doesn't relent.

"You didn't give a shit about me before, so why can't you go on like that now? Go, please!"

His words sting, but even more distressing is the hint of panic that seeps into his tone towards the end. He's obviously scared, and even if I didn't know him well I wouldn't abandon him like this.

"I can't, you're hurt, maybe even badly. Just let me call that ambulance and wait with you until they get here, okay?"

"Don't you understand? If he finds you here a couple of broken ribs and a split lip will be the least of my problems! Do you really want to get me killed? Get the fuck out of here!"

Using what little strength he has left, he pushes me away from him, and I stumble back towards the door. Jasper sags back against the shelf, wheezing and crying now, but he keeps staring at me as if that will physically remove me all the faster.

"Who did this to you? And why?"

I have a definite suspicion about the former, but utterly draw a blank on the latter, and that must be so plain on my face that Jasper picks up on it. His laugh is cut off and pained, but utterly derisive.

"Don't you know? You must have run into him on your way over, to humiliate me even further, as if rubbing it into my face every way possible that I'm miles beneath you. That rabid pitbull of a manservant or whatever that your fiancé keeps paid me a visit, to relay a message. Do you know which one? 'Stay the fuck away from my wife, or next time you won't get away this easily.' Sounds like a really caring, loving fellow, that Edward Cullen."

I don't know what to say, for once truly dumbstruck. Part of me wants to deny that Edward could be capable of something like this, but I'm not as naïve as to truly believe that. It's more a matter of not realizing until now that he would do something like this.

"Why?" I force myself to ask, because that's the one thing I still don't get. When he doesn't answer but just keeps staring back at me, I try again. "Why did you bug my phone?"

His laughter is harsh, and he doesn't seem to care whether it hurts him, or not.

"I didn't, I swear. And why should I? If I really wanted to track you, I could just use the GPS signal, you never turn that off, even if I keep telling you that you should." He coughs, spitting bloody saliva onto the floor, before he goes on. "And I never would, because only a fucking psychopath does shit like that. I can't believe that you even think me capable of that."

He tries to say more, but a violent coughing fit keeps him from it. I can't stand to stay there any longer, uselessly watching him suffer, so I run into the kitchen and dial 911. After giving Jasper's address I check back on him, but he doesn't seem to be conscious any longer, which I tell them as well. Sirens grow loud five minutes later, but I don't wait for them to arrive, but instead I do the cowardly thing and flee back to my own house to quickly wash my hands and wrist, then grab my purse and run out through the back door. Lights are flashing as EMTs run into Jasper's house, but I turn my back on them as I quickly walk away, my throat tight with the tears of shame that threaten to spill out of my eyes.

A block away I call a cab, then wait for it to pick me up. It only takes ten minutes to arrive, but those are enough to turn my revulsion at my own cowardice into hot, burning anger. When I bark out the address, the driver takes one look at my face, then guns the engine, and besides three stops at red lights he's never even close to dropping down to the speed limit. I get out at my destination with my back straight and my lips compressed tightly, but he holds me back before I can walk towards the gate.

"Do you need a good divorce lawyer, lady? My brother in law specializes in high profile cases."

I shake my head, then have to swallow hard to keep the laughter from spilling out of me.

"That won't be necessary, thankfully."

And with my head held high, I walk into battle.

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	23. Chapter 23

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><p>My heart is racing and my fingers are shaking as I punch in the code that will let me inside the front door of the mansion. I'm agitated and pissed off, which is driving me forward, and that's good, because otherwise I would have run ten times already on the short way from the gate to the door. This is one conversation with Edward that I don't want to have – and for a single reason: I don't want any of my suspicions, far-fetched or realistic, to be confirmed.<p>

I know that I can't live with uncertainty, though, that's why I force myself to press on. But I really don't want to be here, and part of me won't shut up screaming that I should just turn my back on him and leave, because I don't want to live with a man who I could even think capable of what might have been going on.

I wish I could just call Rose and ask her advice on what to do, but I can't. She will be of great help and support should worse come to worst, and I'm sure that she will know exactly the right things to say to help me get over Edward – but first, I need to find out if there's a concrete reason to end things with the man I love like life itself.

If nothing else, I owe that to myself.

Inside, the hall is quiet, but I haven't yet reached the stairs when I hear steps approaching from the left. Of all the days I come here, James has to choose today to stand at the ready like any responsible butler would. Seeing him there, all at ease and with his usual perpetual frown as he looks down his nose at me gives me the creeps, and I feel the buffer of anger that keeps me going deflate fast, letting blank fear peek out from underneath.

"Do you require any assistance, Ms. Swan? Maybe your car seats need cleaning of anything unsavory that you might have spilled on them?"

I can only stare at him for several seconds straight, my throat tight and my pulse increasing even more. Although I'm sure that he doesn't know that I've seen him earlier, I still feel like a deer caught in the headlights, a moment away from becoming road kill. He just keeps staring back at me, nonplussed, until finally I can tear myself away from his gaze.

"No, thank you, I don't need anything from you." Like beating up innocent nice guys, but I don't say that out loud.

"Mr. Cullen is in the library, if you don't want to spend your evening standing in the hallway. Even you must have something other to do than that."

I glance at him again, but then look up the stairs instead of replying. With my goal now set, I should be moving on, but my reluctance is growing. Maybe it was a bad idea coming over in the first place. I should have gone to the hospital with Jasper, made sure that he's okay. I should be doing so many other things, like grow a set of balls and shed some light on this entire thing so I can stop being confused and afraid.

My knees are weak as I ascent the stairs, and the short walk to the open library doors seems endless. I hesitate when I see Edward behind his desk, scribbling on a legal pad while he's browsing something on his computer screen. He has ditched the suit jacket and tie, his sleeves are rolled up, the shirt unbuttoned at the collar. A hint of scruff is showing at his cheeks, chin, and jaw, and his hair shows signs of having been kempt by his fingers recently, a gesture of frustration as I've learned in the past. He looks so focused on his work – and so utterly _normal_ – as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Part of me is tempted to reason away everything that has my stomach in knots, to keep me from destroying the illusion of a perfect relationship with the perfect man. But the rest of me is disgusted by this way of thinking, of myself, and with that realization new anger comes up inside of me that drives me forward, both in terms of resolve as well as physically into the room. I'm done playing nice, and he owes me a lot of answers, and I'm not going to leave until I have all of them.

Edward looks up when he hears me enter, the look of concentration on his face giving way to a smile that also reaches his eyes. He's clearly happy to see me, and as usual, I feel my heart speed up just a little bit with that feeling of belonging that he's so good of giving me. But it doesn't change a thing, and when he realizes that I'm not smiling back, his joy at seeing me turns more subdued.

"Something wrong?"

The sarcastic part of me wants to laugh at the question, even more so that it comes instead of a greeting, but I try not to let that bitch off the leash yet.

"You tell me?" He doesn't react at first, then raises his brows in askance. I take a deep breath, then decide that I don't have the patience to draw this out in any way. "Did you or did you not send James to my neighbor's house to beat the crap out of him?"

Edward holds my gaze steadily, but the look on his face turns a little guarded, already telling me what I need to know.

"Taken out of context, you make that sound so awful."

"So you don't even deny it?" I almost wish he would, not because I don't want to think him capable of it, but because the fact that he says those words with so much conviction scares me as much as it pisses me off.

"There's no context to justify that! Are you fucking insane?"

He doesn't react to that at first, then blinks and shakes his head.

"I knew you wouldn't understand. And you are overreacting."

"Now, am I?"

"Yes, you are. I get that you're sensitive to violence because of your former profession, but you're starting to sound like a little girl with a temper tantrum again."

Before, this kind of criticism has always dampened my anger, but now it just fuels the flames.

"You think I'm the one being unreasonable? What could Jasper possibly have done that he deserves being beat up so badly that he needs to be rushed to the hospital? Did you even need a reason to act like such an asshole?"

"I never act without a reason."

"That doesn't answer my question!"

He sighs, clearly exasperated, and leans back in his chair.

"What do you want me to say, Bella? That I'm unreasonable? He was becoming a danger, and I took care of that."

"Danger? What kind of danger? Are you really saying that he planted the bugs? Because he swore that he didn't, and he sounded damn sincere with his face half bashed in!"

"Could you please calm down for a minute? I can't talk to you when you're being so unreasonable."

"No, I won't calm down until you've explained to me what is going on!"

My answer draws another of those sighs from him, and the stubborn set of his jaw tells me that while screaming at him is oddly satisfying, it won't get me any answers. Reigning myself in is almost impossible, but I draw a few deep breaths and force my voice to take on a more composed tone.

"Edward, please explain to me why you had James do that? It doesn't fit the picture of you that I have, and unless you want me to draw my own conclusions and walk out on you right now, you should explain your reasoning to me."

Something flickers behind his eyes, a look close to uncertainty, and fear, but it's gone before I can be really sure that I haven't just imagined it.

"It seemed like a reasonably effective thing to do."

"Reasonable?" I echo, my voice already rising again, but I force myself to retain my semblance of calm. "Do you have concrete proof that he bugged my phone and tablet?"

Edward weighs his answer before he gives it.

"No."

"No? Does that mean no proof at all, or nothing concrete enough to hold up?"

Another hesitation, then, "Neither."

His reply confuses me as much as it irritates me, but then something else occurs to me. For all his talk of honesty, he's a master at twisting words and meanings around until I jump to conclusions, and this once that also implicates him with all the avoiding of straight admissions that he's doing.

"It was you who planted them?" I still hope that it's a wild guess, but his reply makes my stomach sink.

"I didn't plant them, no."

"But you had someone do it?" It's almost impossible now not to get in his face, but it's the underlying horror of the realization that I'm right that helps me hold back.

Edward holds my gaze way too calmly, before he inhales sharply.

"It was all for your protection."

For several seconds straight all I can do is stare at him, open-mouthed.

"What?"

Another sigh.

"I knew you wouldn't understand, that's why I didn't tell you."

"Yes, I don't understand why you feel justified to stalk me, throw me into fits of paranoia, and have the shit beat out of innocent guys!"

He laughs harshly at that.

"Your neighbor is far from innocent."

"I don't give a fucking shit, this is not about him, this is about me and what you did!"

The way he keeps looking at me makes it plain that he doesn't get why I'm so upset, but he doesn't change his behavior as he explains.

"For a substantial amount of time you've been engaging in high risk behavior, it was for your own good that I had a means to keep track of where you were."

"So you could watch my every step? Don't you trust me at all? And what do you even mean with 'high risk behavior'? That I kept sleeping with other guys?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't particularly care about what you did in the past? But the way you and your madam conduct your business isn't safe. I wanted to make sure that if something happened that I could at least find you."

"Find me?"

He laughs, a brief, hard sound.

"When someone rapes you and leaves you bleeding in a ditch, perhaps?"

His answer baffles me, and again I'm at a loss for words.

"Why should that have happened to me?"

"Do you really have to ask that? It's not a long shot from that to what you let Carlisle do to you."

"There's a very long shot from that! It was a stupid role-play scenario, that's all! Not really different from hundreds others that I've done over the years, and no more dangerous than some age play or similar. Just because you can't stand him doesn't mean that I was in any danger at all, or that I didn't take enough precautions!"

"And you really believe that?"

The scorn dripping from his words makes me even madder.

"Yes, I do! It was my own home so no one else could have been lying in wait, I didn't agree to do anything that would have left me actually helpless, and if it had taken a minute longer than planned, Rose would have called, and if I hadn't picked up she would have sent someone to make sure I'm okay. And with Esme and Carlisle both this easy to get a hold of publicly he wasn't a high risk client in any other way, either. I always work with a safety net, that's why I trust Rose and pay her to make sure that everything is safe, and I've never doubted her loyalty and care for me."

"Last night you were fast to suspect her."

"Because I was scared shitless! I knew that she'd never do anything to endanger me or give me a reason to be afraid! The only thing she ever threatened me with was firing me!"

He holds my gaze for another moment, then looks away, almost as if he's backing down.

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm a person of interest to all manner of people, some of whom might think it a good idea to grab you off the street and hold you hostage. I tried to prevent a situation like that from escalating by what I did, without scaring you needlessly."

"You could have told me!"

"And you would have agreed to that?"

Although I want to shout my answer right in his face, I take a moment to think about it. People chip their pets as well, for similar reasons, but I'm not a dog.

"Probably not."

"See, I knew you wouldn't be reasonable, but I couldn't let your misguided sense of privacy endanger you."

Some women might think this as romantic, but I'm not one of them.

"Misguided? The guy at the store said the bug was also monitoring my emails and everything else I did on my phone, not just my location, how do you reason that away?"

He's silent for several endless seconds, and I'm already starting to wonder if he's trying to come up with the most reasonable lie by the time he answers.

"I really wanted to trust you, but I wasn't sure if I could."

That hurts, a lot, and while the rage inside of me still wants out, it dulls a little at that.

"You can't trust me? I never lied to you, not once!"

"Not that I can prove, no."

"Prove? And my word isn't good enough for you now? Because I'm a whore?"

He grunts, now a little angry himself.

"You do realize that you're the only one of us who constantly refers to you as that? What do I need to say to make you see that I don't care? Apparently you don't trust me."

"Don't you dare turn that on me! You're the one who acts all irrationally, not me!"

"You want my honest answer? I couldn't trust you because I've only known you for two months. You didn't give me a concrete reason, but I'm no seventeen year old naïve boy who believes every word the woman he loves says just because he wants it to be true."

There's so much I want to throw at him for that, but it's then that I realize that it doesn't matter. I don't need to defend myself, because I'm not at fault here. And in the light of his admission, everything else that has happened since we've met starts to take on an entirely new meaning – all the encouragement, the changes in my life that I thought were my own, but now I see that all of them didn't really come from me, but him. He's been manipulating me the entire time, pushing me in the right direction, right where he wanted me. In light of that, even beating Jasper up makes sense.

"You did it because he was a loose end."

"Excuse me?"

Both my words and the almost toneless sound of my voice seem to confuse him.

"Jasper. Because he could have easily uncovered your little scheme there, and he was the last remaining thing of my past that I might still cling to. My last friend. It even played perfectly into your hands that the store techs found your bugs, because it was so easy to let me jump to the conclusion that Jasper must have done it, and that the sane thing would be to never see him again."

The fact that he doesn't protest is confirmation enough, and does its own to douse the last of my anger. The betrayal goes so deep that it hurts almost physically, and right then even looking at Edward makes my stomach lurch. I want to run, slam the door behind me and just get away from him, but I can't let myself avoid anything now that finally things come to some kind of a close.

"Is your ego really that frail that you need to terminate the competition? Are you so insecure that the only way to keep me close is to shut everyone else out of my life?"

Edward shakes his head.

"That was your doing, not mine."

"I certainly wasn't the one who sent James to beat Jasper up!" And, just like that, my anger returns.

"Maybe I overreacted a little."

"You overreacted? The poor guy was scared for his life! How can anything justify that? Are you going to have your butler beat up every other man I ever talk to as well? All of my former clients?"

"You don't have any emotional attachment to them, there's no need for me to do anything about them."

"But there was with Jasper?"

He doesn't reply, but as it is, I don't think that what else he might say would change anything.

"If no one had found the bugs, would you ever have told me?"

"No."

"No?"

He clears his throat, then leans forward, his fingers laced together on the desk in front of him.

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry I care so deeply of you that I want you to be safe? That while I meant every word I said to you, I didn't just blindly rush into things when there were still so many unknown variables in the game? I didn't get where I am without being cautious. I apologize if that makes you feel like you're in any way unworthy, because that was never my intention."

I'm really starting to hate his restraint and calm. His words would be so much easier to believe if he was showing any kind of emotion to go along with them.

"Maybe it makes you unworthy to me, have you ever considered that?"

"That I take care to make sure not to hurt either of us? No, I haven't considered that, and it doesn't make any sense. This was all for your benefit as well."

"You're really a huge asshole if you believe that."

I expect him to be at least offended at that, but he doesn't even look hurt.

"I'm sorry if that is your honest opinion of me."

"Does anything I say affect you?"

He pauses, and when he goes on, his voice is a little pressed.

"It's enough when one of us is sputtering with rage and indignation, it doesn't help if we're both unreasonable, that has never helped solve any problem."

"But maybe it would help me feel like you even gave a shit about me and my feelings?"

"I don't see how that makes a difference."

Unable to hold his gaze anymore I look away, then inhale deeply.

"I see. It's perfectly okay for you to keep track of my every movement and personal correspondence because you don't trust me, you beat up people for no apparent reason, or at least none you can justify to me, and you put the blame for all that on me. I guess it really doesn't make a difference whether you show any emotions as well, because I don't see how you can do all that and still love me."

I look back at him at the last part, but besides a muscle that twitches next to his right eye, he doesn't react.

"I never gave you any reason to doubt my love for you."

"But you also never gave me a reason to believe in it!"

Turning around, I almost walk out of him, but instead start to pace. My thoughts are in such disarray that it's almost impossible to think clearly for me, or think at all. Pacing helps, but not enough, and the fact that Edward just watches me run ruts into his carpet drives me insane. Eventually I stop and stare at him, unable to take it anymore.

"Are you just going to sit there and say nothing?"

"Is there anything I could say that would change your mind?"

Not really, but that doesn't help, either. Grasping for the last straw I can find, I turn the conversation around one last time.

"I heard that phone call in Paris, you know? To Tanya? I just didn't say anything yet because I figured that if she was important enough to tell her about your proposal, and ending that call by telling her that you still love her, I figured you'd eventually come forward and tell me about her."

Panic breaks through his calm composure, and for a second I'm almost relieved. Then the realization of what that might mean sinks in, dousing my triumph immediately.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want you to hear that."

"That much is obvious."

I almost expect him to go silent now, but he exhales loudly before he explains.

"She's a former fiancée of mine. I thought I owed her that phone call, as a sign of closure. The fact that she still has a special place in my heart doesn't mean I don't love you, Bella. Does it make me a bad man that I can't just shake off the feelings for a woman I thought I could spend my life with?"

"But what you had is a thing of the past?"

"How can you even doubt my feelings for you?"

He's clearly upset now, and while that's a small relief, it doesn't change much.

"I don't doubt them because of that, I was just asking for clarification."

Apparently, he's not fond of being fed his own medicine, but after a moment he gives a curt nod, accepting my jibe.

"You're my life now. What we have is different than any other relationship I've ever had. You have to believe that."

I just look back at him blankly, suddenly exhausted, and no longer wanting to keep fighting. He must see that resolve in my eyes because his composure keeps crumbling, a wild kind of desperation taking its place instead.

"I love you, you know that? Please tell me you know that?"

He sounds so sincere, but right then I'm not in the mood to alleviate his insecurity after having to suffer through him not doing the same for almost the entire conversation.

"So you keep saying."

"Bella?"

"I don't know, okay?" I snap back, then take a few steps, but I'm too weary of pacing for it to help. "You dumped an awful lot of things on me, I need some time to think about that."

He nods, momentarily relieved, but then his eyes narrow, before panic makes them go wide again.

"What do you mean, you need time?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. I can't go on doing this. I'm sorry, but I really can't."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

If it had just been desperation, I might have gone a different way, but there's also disbelief in his voice, and the nasty part of me jumps to the chance to share some of the hurt with him that his actions have brought me.

"Yes, Edward, I'm breaking up with you. I need some time to clear my head and make up my mind whether I even want to be with a trigger happy control freak, let alone love him."

I keep staring into his wide eyes another moment, then turn around on my heel, already rummaging in my purse to find the keys and papers of his car.

"Don't! Please don't walk out on me like that!"

Now it's mostly fear, but there is something else in his voice, something that makes my hackles rise.

"Or what? You'll call Esme so that she can bully some sense into me? Or fire me? Tough luck, I don't depend on either of you to put food in my mouth and money in my bank account."

For a moment the idea of calling Rose to pretty much fuck Edward right out of my system is tempting, but I'd never do something like that. I don't even really want to break up with him, but I think that his ego needs a bit of a dampener, and for once in my life I want to be a vindictive bitch. I can always tell him that I didn't entirely mean it tomorrow, but right now I just need to do this, for myself. I've been a pushover for far too long, and if he really wants to make this work, he has to accept that I need some space.

"You can't do this, please, don't. Bella!"

His voice is almost hoarse with desperation, and my heart breaks when I see the pain and distress on his face, but I can't back down now. Instead, I put the keys and papers on his desk, then turn my back on him for good.

"Watch me."

I get halfway through the library before he comes after me, but I keep my shoulders squared and don't look back. My heart still skips a happy beat when he draws close and grabs my shoulder, but before I can look at him and tell him to let go, I feel a sharp prick at the side of my neck.

My knees buckle before my brain has time to process what is going on, and my entire body is already going numb when Edward catches me. My vision goes back, and the last thing I hear is Edward mutter a rueful, sad, "You really shouldn't have done that."

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	24. Chapter 24

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><p>Everything around me is dark; dark and soft and comforting.<p>

My lids flutter open for a moment, but all I see is a white pillow right in front of my face. My head hurts. There's a bad taste in my mouth.

I close my eyes again. The pain recedes, but the sensation of my head being stuffed with cotton remains.

Thinking is slow, but bit by bit my thoughts manage to work their way through the haze.

I force my eyes to open again, then turn my head enough to look beyond the pillow. A room, cast in perpetual twilight be a weak source of light. Beige walls, dark brown carpet, a door at the far end at the same wall the bed is pushed against, halfway open. Beyond, there's darkness.

I'm too weak to keep my eyes open for much longer, so I let my lids flutter closed. The drug in my system is still strong, keeping my heart rate slow, my body incapable of responding well to any kind of mental stimuli. I feel like I should be afraid, but I'm entirely too sluggish for that.

Minutes pass by, then I feel like I can find the strength to move my head in the other direction. It takes a while, and my body slowly follows. There's a dull ache in my right shoulder and wrist, and when I manage to pry my lids open, I see why. My new position is awkward, putting pressure on my shoulder. I can't align it well, because my right arm is stretched out, now half underneath the weight of my body, my wrist cuffed to the end of a rail that's part of the headboard.

I stare at the cuff for a while, then shift until I'm lying more comfortably on my back, and the sensation in my fingers slowly returns. I still feel it as if through a buffer, or a hazy pane of glass. Nothing is entirely real, I'm not completely here.

Yet.

A little later I assess the other side of the room. There's a night stand, the top empty, and I see a primitive toilet next to it. A chair against the wall, opposite the door. At the other side of the room, parallel to the foot of the bed, is a blacked out window. It reminds me of investigation rooms from cop shows on TV. I've never been arrested, I don't know if they are movie props or not. This one seems real.

There's nothing else in the room, no lamps, no cupboards, no nothing. Besides me.

More time passes, and slowly my self-awareness heightens. With it comes fear, and I almost wish for the effects of the drug not to wear off so fast. I'm lucid enough to realize that my situation is kind of hopeless, and I could have done a little while longer without screaming myself hoarse.

And the impulse to scream is strong, and getting stronger still when I yank on the chain and there's almost no give to it, barely enough to let my wrist rest on the pillow, but not even allow me to fully turn onto my other side comfortably. It doesn't look like your average toy cuff, either, but more like something reinforced, titanium or some allow. To keep from succumbing to the need to scream I focus on studying it for a while. I don't even see where it starts or ends, as if the bed frame, chain, and cuff are made from one piece entirely. I don't see a locking mechanism, either, but then I can't really study it from up close as my muscles are still too weak to support my weight on my elbows or shoulders.

I notice something else then, I'm no longer wearing the clothes I've had on before. Gone are the high heels, skirt, blouse, and from what it feels like, my underwear as well. My body is swathed in some kind of white nighty, with thin straps at the top, and ending about mid-thigh. Soft cotton, like the sheet I'm lying on.

Easy to wash and bleach the blood out of, my mind helpfully supplies.

A sob wrenches itself out of my throat, but I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek until the urge to scream lessens enough so that I can draw a ragged breath through my mouth again.

Time passes. A lot of time. With no way of judging it I can only take a guess, but it's easily hours. I fight the fear for a long while, but eventually give in, and sob into the pillow, my tears leaving wet splotches on it.

After the fear comes rage, but I'm too upset to use it to focus. But at least I know who to blame for my current predicament – myself. I might not have pushed the plunger on that hypodermic needle, but I blindly walked into this, ignoring so many things that are so obvious to me now.

What I don't know is why I'm here.

What I don't want to know is what's going to happen to me.

More time passes, while my mind oscillates between full blown panic about my possible demise, and sweet visions of escape. At first, I'm jumpy at every noise I hear, but I'm the only one causing them. There's not even a rustle of air from ventilation, or the creak of the heating system, just me, my ragged breathing, and the soft slither of skin, hair, and cotton on cotton. I'm apprehensive of what will happen once I'm no longer the only one making noises in here.

So I wait, and fear.

Time passes.

Then my concerns turn a little more practical.

The drugs that have kept me out for an undefined amount of time have left my mouth parched, and at the same time tasting foul. I feel like my tongue is swollen and covered with vile tasting fur; swallowing hurts. Soon the wish to get rid of the taste gets replaced by the simple need for water, and the thirst just keeps getting worse.

At the same time, my need to pee increases exponentially the more I yearn for water to coat my tongue and throat. Keeping my thighs pressed together helps for a while, but not indefinitely.

I wonder if my urine is safe to drink. Besides the drugs that knocked me out there shouldn't be anything bad in my system, and it's not the first time I've done that, albeit not my own. Then again, wondering is almost futile as I don't see any kind of container I could store it in. The toilet looks close enough for me to reach with my cuffed arm extended, but not close enough to get to the water I presume must be at the bottom. The cleaning chemicals in it are most likely to kill me, though.

I also wonder what would happen if I just pissed onto the bed, but the idea of lying in my own waste for an undefined amount of time makes me disregard it almost immediately. There's no need for me to soil myself, because there's only one possible reasoning for why I might do it, but of all the things that might happen to me here, rape isn't one I'm afraid of.

But being made to suffer before I die, is.

With nothing else to do, nothing to focus my thoughts on to distract myself both from my mental and physical distress, I start to count. The walls and ceiling are too even to find any kind of patterns there, so counting inside my head it is. It doesn't work to distract me, but it does let me drag out the moment when I have to use the toilet. I try to visualize my kidneys recycling the water somehow, to retain what my body can still use and doesn't need to get rid of, but eventually I cave.

Taking a piss with my wrist chained to the adjacent bed is not the most fun experience of my life, but I manage, my body half stretched over the night stand. There's no toilet paper anywhere, but I find a pack of tissues on the floor next to the night stand that work just as well.

With my legs shaky from even that small an exertion I sit back on the bed, my bare feet still on the carpet, and stare miserably at the cuff.

Closer inspection reveals that there are some welding seams, and the cuff itself is locked by some kind of mechanism that requires tiny screwdrivers to open it – in short, even if I had them in my hands, I couldn't unlock it, someone else has to do it for me. The resemblance to the Cartier love cuff can't be coincidental.

With one need satisfied, my body can fully concentrate on the other, and soon my thirst is all I can think of. Even the possible horrors of my confinement pale in comparison to it. My headache gets worse, and my vision starts to swim, and eventually I lie back down in hope that if I fall asleep from exhaustion, I might get some relief while I'm out cold.

It takes a while, but eventually I doze off, as unlikely as that may seem. I don't dream, but when I wake up again, I feel my pulse racing, so fast that it even outpaces the clamoring of my body for sustenance.

There's a cup of water on the night stand, and just seeing it there freaks me out so much that I spend the next minutes cowering on the bed, as far away from it as I can possibly get.

Someone has been here while I was sleeping, could have done anything to me, and while being awake doesn't change a thing about my general state of helplessness, this still feels like a new level of violation.

Instinct eventually overrules my trepidation, and my hand is shaking the entire time it holds the cup. The water is cool and smooth, and tastes better than anything I've ever drunk in my entire life. I force myself to take small sips, to ration it both so it will last longer and I won't barf it up right away, but it's not enough; I'm still thirsty by the time the cup is empty.

Only now, I get hungry as well.

Like almost all women of the twenty-first century I'm not a stranger to voluntary hungering. While I don't believe in diets and am proud of the curves my genes have bestowed on me, I know the gnawing pain in my stomach all too well. Now that my thirst has lessened a little, my stomach begins to complain, and soon the two demands rival each other.

At least I have something to occupy my mind with besides being scared shitless about what will happen to me.

Yet more time passes, and even with all the hunger, thirst, and fear, eventually I get bored. I've never been able to deal well with passiveness, and now is no exception. Soon I get restless, but with the cuff on I can't pace; there is absolutely nothing in the room my mind could occupy itself with; and while there is plenty my vivid imagination concocts, both in terms of my demise and unlikely revenge, there is only so much it can provide before everything dulls down to the level of past midnight shopping channel excitement.

Thirst will kill me long before hunger ever can, even with possible refills of that dastardly cup, but I'm more concerned that by then there won't be enough sanity left for me to care. I'd do almost anything for something to give me focus.

That is, until I hear the bolts of a door beyond my room disengage, and my mind and body freeze alike while my heart tries to beat itself right out of my chest.

Someone comes in, then switches on the lights. They are too bright for my twilight accustomed eyes, sending tears cascading down my cheeks immediately. More steps, accompanied by the rustle of clothes, but both stop a sure distance from the door to my room.

Silence falls, my pulse hammering so loud in my ears that I wonder if I can even hear any actual sound.

I wonder if I should feign sleep, but the steps don't draw closer. Besides that, I'm certain that whoever keeps me locked in here, whoever dressed me in the cotton nighty and brought me that cup of water is keeping track of my every movement.

The sarcastic bitch inside of me rears her ugly head and dryly remarks that, by now, I should have gotten used to that.

I laugh, just one short, half strangled bark, but it sounds deafening in my ears.

Fear, strong, unadulterated fear sweeps through me, tightens my throat so much that even breathing is hard, and I have to bite down on my unrestrained fist to keep from howling with panic.

Steps recede, the door closes, the bolts are engaged anew. I'm alone again. Can't say I'm relieved. But I'm even less relieved when he comes back, and this time he doesn't stop in the other room.

I don't know what I've expected – someone going first class psychopath on you should change the way you see them, how they _look_ – but Edward doesn't seem any different than usual. A little more cautious and somewhat sad, but that's it. I even still feel that bit of yearning in my chest that's always there when I think about him.

Well, until my mind finally kicks in and all that gets swallowed up in a wave of fear so strong that it leaves me lying on the bed shell-shocked and unable to do anything but stare at him.

Of course he sees that reaction, and as usual judges it right. It would be so much easier if he would gloat now, but the only thing that changes is that the sadness in his eyes deepens, and his shoulders sag. He's clearly disappointed that I'm afraid of him, and that only makes matters so much worse.

He lingers at the door for a couple of seconds, before he fully enters the room, moving just outside of what I presume is my reach. The fact that I don't know but he does is another item on a list I'm afraid my mind will beat me to death with as soon as it's capable of rational thought again.

In his hand he carries a small tray, and when I still don't move as he has traversed most of the room, he halts and starts putting the items from it onto my nightstand. I could lunge for him, but we both seem to know that I'm utterly incapable of doing that right now. And really, what would it help? Focusing on what he deposited beside my bed is easier than looking at his oh so familiar yet at the same time so utterly foreign face.

There are four small cups, and a bottle of water. Each cup holds three pills, and they all look alike, but I doubt that they are the same. I stare at them until he clears his throat, at which I have to look up and catch the gaze of his sad eyes that freak me out so much. He doesn't say anything at first, and eventually I find my voice.

"More drugs?"

The look on his face is unreadable as he gives a single, curt nod, and when he replies, his voice is heavy with something very close to tears.

"I'm trying to make this as humane for you as possible."

An oxymoron if there ever was one, if you ask me. He doesn't, instead points at one cup after the other.

"Anti-anxiety meds, sleeping pills, pain killers, appetite suppressors." When I don't react, he almost fidgets. "You must be getting hungry by now, and those should take the edge off."

"Why not just bring me something to eat?" I almost venture the guess that he's punishing me for something, but considering just how obvious that is, I leave it unspoken.

Edward presses his lips together for a moment, almost as if my question seems like criticism to him.

"It's much easier if you don't eat anymore." A tendril of anger claws its way through the fright gripping me, and I'm just about to go back on letting that jab drop, when I see his brow furrow with what looks tantalizingly close to grief. "You won't be here long enough to actually starve."

"I guess you won't just let me leave after scaring the living shit out of me?"

He shakes his head, then looks away, clearly no longer able to hold my gaze.

"Letting you go is the one thing I can't do."

With that he turns around and practically flees, but I'm too stunned by the implication of that statement to react anyway. Stunned, and utterly frightened. That cryptic remark only leaves two possible outcomes for this, and somehow I don't see myself walking out of here unscathed after the length he has gone to securing my prolonged stay here.

With Edward gone but my fear still in residence I exhale loudly, then reach with shaking fingers for the bottle and down half of it, and, on second thought, the anti-anxiety meds as well. If he really wanted to keep me drugged, he could find an easier way than to let me medicate myself into a blissful stupor. Like add something to my water, which he probably has, I consider as I feel my stomach rumbling. I take the appetite suppressors as well, any drug interactions be damned, but leave the sleeping pills and painkillers untouched. Why would I even need the latter? I don't like where my brain is going with that consideration.

Long before I expect them to, the anti-anxiety meds kick in, and rather potently so. Even though I hurl myself towards the toilet, stick my finger down my throat and retch until I've puked up what little has been in my stomach, I can't completely stop them from working. They must be top quality, FDA approved for raging psychopaths in asylums strength, because before I know it, my fright dulls and everything starts to be mellow and only half as bad as before

I won't be taking them again any time soon, that's for sure, because I need my mind functioning, and as much as my panic is locking me down at the moment, I know that, given time, I'll be able to work with it.

For the next hours I just stare at the ceiling and wait for my mind to become my own again without the industrial strength cotton candy clogging up my thoughts. Eventually, I start feeling a little better, and it's no longer hunger but returning trepidation that knots up my stomach.

But what is even worse than the fear of what will happen now, is the realization of what he has already done to me.

Looking back, I almost can't believe how blind and stupid I've been. The red flags were there, aplenty, but like a lovesick fool I've ignored every single one of them and reasoned them away until they neatly fit into the perfect picture of my modern day fairy tale.

Starting with Rose's first assessment of Edward as coming on a little creepy with his prerequisites, her insistence that I shouldn't be blind to the harsh reality of things, down to the fact that, of all people, Carlisle was the one who warned me not only on one, but several occasions. In retrospect, our entire interactions should have been one giant clue as to the fact that there is a lot more going on than I wanted to see.

That makes me wonder if both Carlisle and Esme are somehow involved in this, but while I would love to fling blame at everyone around me, I've done too much self deluding over the past weeks to let myself go there. All this is clearly the work of a sharp, calculating mind, and while both Esme and her husband have many flaws, manipulation on this scale doesn't fit the picture I have of them.

No, the true mastermind behind what has happened to me is Edward, I'm certain of that, even if his obvious sadness is distracting me a little – but then brilliant genius doesn't exclude irrational sociopath. I've always known that he is good at reading people, but I've underestimated him, I realize now.

From the get-go, he has manipulated me flawlessly, always done exactly the right thing to keep my defenses down and my mind open to his gently guiding fingers. I told him that I had trouble in the past with men unable to cope with my profession, and he turned into the understanding boyfriend who, even after the proposal, didn't want to infringe my freedom. I value honesty and the absence of mind games in a relationship, and he morphs into the charming yet always logical equal of my intellect – although I have to admit that in both cases I have no idea if that really is who he is, or just a front he's been showing me. In the end, it doesn't matter.

What is far worse for me is how he has made me change into a woman I almost don't recognize anymore as myself. He made me question my life and decisions like no one ever before, without even making me realize that I was turning on myself. While I know that very few people are open-minded enough not to vilify the oldest profession in the world, I've never felt any guilt about what I do until Edward planted those seeds inside of me. I was happy to live on the fringes of society, always looking in but never truly belonging. It left me free to sneer at their petty games and shrug off any negativity that came my way, because, while not feeling superior to them, I never had an ounce of envy for what they have. I was happy with my life, and he turned me into a self-conscious little mouse.

He also made me burn all the bridges to my former life without me even feeling real remorse about it, leaving only those as possible friends that he approved of. Even with Jane and her lot, who he apparently had no real influence on, he made me second-guess spending time with them, and now I'm sure that his generous donation in my name for her paintings was a clever ploy to let Esme plant doubt about Jane's motives in my mind. Knowing Esme, he probably didn't even need to say a thing.

By far the worst, though, is the fact that even his stalking and beating up innocent guys hasn't made me want to run and never come back. I hate myself for being so utterly weak, even co-dependent on him that, even for a moment, I considered that there must be a way to work around that. The old me, the real me, wouldn't have tried to cling to something so obviously unhealthy, but considering that even now some part of me still wants him to come back and at least talk to me is making me sick.

I'm starting to freak out again when it seems that I'm getting my wish almost as soon as I think of him.

I hold my breath as I hear the bolt disengage, but while Edward comes in, he doesn't go more than a few steps into the room adjacent to mine. Silence falls, my blood rushing in my ears the only sound for at least a minute. Then he starts to talk, but at the first words I realize that it can't be to me.

"I don't understand what I did wrong this time, can you tell me? It was all looking so good, felt so right. I know that she loves me, really loves me." His voice is sad but at the same time his words seem to make him happy, but that changes abruptly as he goes on, the sound coming from a slightly different angle as if he has turned around. "She's not like you, only playing me to get to my trust fund. Or a lost little puppy that will fall for just anyone who's kind enough to really see her for the woman she is. Or change her mind every other day with the sole intention of giving me whiplash so she can exploit what she thinks is my weakness. She really loves me, unconditionally. Or so I thought."

Back is the sadness, after a brief flicker of hope.

"But why wasn't it enough? I love her so much, I almost can't bear it! I did everything right, I learned from my mistakes, and still I'm not enough? Still she had to run from me? Why? Please, Tanya, tell me why?"

He's sobbing now, and if not for the horror his words instill in me I'd almost feel sorry for him. There's no reply, and after another minute he leaves again, but my pulse won't stop racing. I try to keep quiet, but eventually I just have to ask.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

Having been here for over a day, I've become attuned to my sense of hearing, so that even the sound of cotton moving against cotton and skin as I breathe is something I pick up on, with nothing else to distract me. I would have long since noticed if there was someone beside me here, in the room next to mine.

Of course I don't get an answer.

That doesn't mean I'm the only one down here – only the only one still alive.

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><p><strong>See you next Tuesday! I'd love to be in all your heads right now, so if you want to indulge me, drop me a line. Thanks!<strong>

**If you want to grab ahold of me more directly, you can do so on facebook (Daria Chenowith) and twitter (DariaChenowith)!**

**Thank you all so much again! You're completely blowing me away **


	25. Chapter 25

**Huge Thank Yous go to V and sheviking for helping me whip this chapter into shape, and prassacut and chrissy1201 for pretty much everything else (which was a lot last weekend. And week. You're awesome. I hope I tell you that often enough!)**

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><p>Hours pass.<p>

I freak, I despair, I doze off, I wake up with a start and my heart takes minutes to slow down again.

Rinse, repeat.

I've almost given up hope to ever see another living soul again when I hear the bolt disengage, and someone enters. He lingers in the other room for almost a minute before he moves on to mine, and I wonder if he's looking for courage, or trying to compose himself. When he steps through the door, Edward is as calm as ever, almost as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but this time I see through the mask. He's upset, his eyes are a little too wide and they dart around nervously, and it takes him longer than usual to catch and hold my gaze. Because I really have nothing else in the world to be happy about, I take glee from the fact that my captor isn't gloating about keeping me where I am.

Or so I assume. Any alternative to this is too upsetting for me to consider right now and keep my composure, and the last thing I need is to freak out in front of him.

He is once more armed with the tray, bottle and pills included. I watch in silence as he walks over to my nightstand and switches the empty cups for full ones, then after hesitating for a moment, adds the painkillers and sleeping pills to those already waiting there, untouched. When he looks up and sees me watching him, he gives an almost noncommittal shrug.

"You know that in a day or two you'll have a choice, considering those? Probably the last choice still left to you."

I continue to stare at him, then down at the pills, before I look back up.

"I won't kill myself, if that is what you want."

Edward looks almost shocked at my words.

"I don't want you to commit suicide, I was just making sure you knew your options."

For some reason – impending insanity perhaps – that statement makes me laugh, and it sounds hard even to me.

"Options? I don't really have any options." To underline my words I yank on the cuff, making the metal rattle against the rail. Edward frowns as he takes a step back, out of my already limited reach.

"You always have options, but I see what you mean."

A million obscenities come to my mind, but I swallow them all when he turns to leave. At least with him here I have something to focus on. Being alone is so much worse.

"Please don't go!"

He halts, and when he glances back at me he seems genuinely surprised.

"You want me to stay?"

I quickly nod, hating myself for being so eager, but I tell myself that it's all about trying to find a way out and has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that, despite what he has done, part of me is still yearning for him.

"Just for a while? I hate being so lonely."

He thinks about that, then steps over to the chair and sits down. I wonder why he doesn't scoot it over a little, but then realize that it's bolted to the floor, just like the nightstand and the toilet. As far as I can see, the bed is the only thing not locked down, and it's hardly the kind of furniture that I could use as a weapon.

"Tested and tried design?" I venture a guess, and have to suppress a shiver when he actually smiles at my observation.

"You could say that."

"Aren't you done with all the evasive answers yet?" I hedge, then let some of my simmering resentment bleed into my voice. "You at least owe me an explanation."

"I do?"

"Yes, you do. I never lied to you, also not by omission. If you have any respect for me at all, you owe me an explanation."

I'm a little afraid that he will just shake his head and leave me now, seeing as I've inadvertently offered him an out on a silver platter – what kind of respect can he have for a woman he locks up somewhere, after all? - but after giving that some thought, he nods.

"I guess I do. What do you want to know?"

I've never been fond of playing twenty questions, and now is no exception. There are so many unanswered questions swarming inside my head that it's hard to pick one, but I settle on confirming my suspicions first before adding any new ones.

"You've done this before, I presume?"

He nods, then snorts.

"You heard me talking earlier, you already know you're not the first one to grace this establishment with your presence."

My heart skips a beat, both with fear and how much I have missed our banter the last couple of days.

"I figured you'd feel more self-conscious about talking to thin air where I can hear you."

"I wasn't talking to thin air."

That answer would have been less creepy if given with a smirk, but he's all matter of fact, 'the sun is shining outside in the gardens' kind. While I'm so very tempted to ask who he has been talking to, I don't, because right now I don't want to know the answers that might come after the name I already know he'll give.

Switching to a topic that won't send me into hysterics early on, I move to the next question.

"Who knows that I'm here? Wherever 'here' is."

"The basement of my house, and I'm the only one who knows. Considering he's not stupid, James will likely suspect it, seeing as he would have heard you leave otherwise."

That answer is so cryptic that I just can't hold back.

"You actually have a kind of cubbyhole dungeon in your basement?"

This time I just get a nod.

"And James might suspect I'm here?"

"He didn't see you and he didn't ask, so he can't know, only suspect."

His answer is frustrating, but then I should know by now that I need to ask more precise questions.

"Is he involved in whatever is going on?"

I'm not even surprised when Edward shakes his head.

"He probably knows what is going on, but he doesn't participate, you could say. Plausible deniability before the law. But I think it would be too much to say he isn't acutely aware of what I do downstairs. He can be quite frustrating when he insists that he's not responsible for what happens behind the maintenance room, only offering scathing remarks when I would need his help with the cleanup."

At least now I know where I am.

"You could have just said 'no' as well." Not that I mind the explanation, but it strikes me as peculiar that he offers so much information when before he's been so reluctant to say anything. Then again, this is probably a subject he can't really talk about with anyone. Lucky me.

"I could have, but you seemed irked by my previous reply so I figured you'd enjoy a lengthier one instead."

The fact that he's trying to be thoughtful now rubs me the wrong way, but for the sake of the civility of our conversation I try not to show too much of that.

"Is anyone else involved?"

"You mean Esme or Carlisle?" he ventures a guess.

"Them, too, but I mean in general. You know, if you say 'no' now I know this isn't about human trafficking or black market organ harvesting."

He seems split between smiling at my not exactly brilliant attempt at humor while fishing for information, and being appalled that I could think him connected to something like that.

"It's not about either, I have money enough that the implication alone that I make more like that is insulting. And no, no one else is involved as far as your stay here is concerned."

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, and I don't like getting another vague reply.

"But others are connected to getting me here?"

He takes his time formulating his answer.

"In a way. Although I doubt they have any clue what they were helping me accomplish. With Carlisle I'm no longer sure, he can be a sly bastard, and contrary to Esme he's not blind to who I am."

"Meaning?"

Edward purses his lips, then laughs dryly.

"You so want to blame him, right? When he's really the only one who actively tried to help you, in his own twisted way."

"I'm not blaming him for anything besides being too stupid to keep to a simple contract."

He looks surprised at that, before he glances at his folded hands between his knees.

"I should probably elaborate. He doesn't really know what goes on, and I doubt he suspects how things turned out with my former girlfriends and fiancées, or else he'd be the first to sic the cops on me. But he knows that none of them started working again, and I wouldn't put it above him to actively try to hunt them down. He's a sucker for sloppy seconds and gloating at people's misfortunes. I guess he's playing along because he thinks I'm no better than he is, only that he takes pride in not hiding behind a front of propriety."

That about fits what I've come up with since finding myself cuffed to the bed down here.

"Are you?"

"No better than he is, or hiding behind a front of propriety?"

"Both."

He mulls that over briefly.

"I do think I am better than he is because my intentions are good, at least. And I'm not really hiding behind anything."

For the last bit he looks up and catches my gaze, and holds it until I look away, chuckling despite my effort not to.

"Seriously? And what do you call all this?"

"I didn't say I wasn't hiding anything, but that I'm not hiding behind anything. Since when are you too stupid to understand the difference?"

For the first time he actually sounds angry, and part of me is happy that I got under his skin. The far more dominant part of me is screaming at me to stop this, because the last thing I need is for him to get violent. It's not really hard to appear demure as I look down at my legs, fear does that to you.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did."

Now it's my turn to think about how to reply. I go for honesty.

"I didn't mean to anger you, but you have to understand my bitterness. I love you, I gave up everything for you, and you lock me up here with the intentions to do God knows what to me. It's borderline insulting when you imply that you're an honest man."

He seems at a loss for words, then looks away.

"I really didn't want you to end up like this. Please, believe me."

Strangely enough, I do.

"And still you won't let me go." A statement, not a question. He shakes his head.

"How could I let you go? I love you."

The reasoning behind that gives me the chills, more than anything else he's said since I woke up down here.

"I wouldn't tell anyone, you know? It's not like they'd believe me, and even if they did, you do have the kind of money and influence to shut people up or make them disappear. I've never been a threat to you."

"It's not about that," he grunts, almost petulant. "Don't you see? I just can't let you go. And when you tried to walk out on me, you forced my hand."

"I would have returned the next day."

"You would?"

His surprise stings, as illogical as that may be.

"Yes, I would have been that stupid," I huff, unable to keep that to myself. He frowns at the last part, but it's the sadness in his eyes that makes me go on. "I would have been mad at you and expected you to apologize, promise me you would never go behind my back and all that jazz, but yes, I would have come back. If you hadn't acted so indifferent I wouldn't even have turned my back on you. I just wanted to let you stew, let you feel part of the frustration I was feeling. You blame me for this? It was you who fucked us up, not me."

So much for trying not to rile him up too much, but once the words are out, I realize that they needed to be spoken. I was blind to what he did to me, but I'm not responsible for anything, even according to his logic. The obvious sadness that comes off him in waves tells me that he knows. I wonder if I should feel satisfaction at that, but really, it only makes me more miserable.

"I know, and I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"It would be a nice start," I offer, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"You should have thought about that before you started playing mind games with me."

Edward gets up, making me shy away from him instinctively, and my heart is beating a mile a minute instantly with fear. I can't even curl into a ball with my arm shackled to the bed, and the helplessness of my position just makes me more afraid.

But when I look at him I only see confusion, and he stops at the other end of the room in mid-pace.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I could never do that."

I really want to believe him, but I can't.

"Then why do you keep me here, like this? Locked up like an animal, with barely enough water to keep me hydrated, no food, not even a blanket to cover myself? Why?"

This time he doesn't answer; maybe he doesn't even know himself. All the anger from before leaves me like water running through splayed fingers, and I feel despair gripping me now.

"Why can't you just keep me locked up somewhere but without the cuff, and at least pretend to treat me like a human being? I don't want to die, and I don't even need to get away from you, but please, don't leave me here like this!"

"You are lying." Not an accusation, just a fact.

"I'm not!" I'm trying to convince him, but the panic is too obvious in my voice now, and probably my body language as well.

"You're a survivor, of course you tell me whatever you think I want to hear so you can get a chance to get away from me. It's understandable, and it's a trait you have that has drawn me to you from the start, but it makes you utterly untrustworthy right now."

"I'm not lying," I sob, and when I go on, I don't even have to feign the bleakness gripping me. "I just don't want to die. I know that my situation is hopeless, that I'm completely at your mercy. I can't do anything myself, and there's no one out there who would come looking for me. It will be months before anyone will even wonder why they don't see me and can't reach me on the phone. If your goal was to isolate me so you could have me all to yourself, you've won."

He doesn't even gloat at that, just keeps looking at me with his shoulders slumped with defeat.

"I've lost you. How can that ever be a victory?"

In a twisted kind of way, I even understand him, but that's of no use to me now. We keep staring at each other for a while, before he turns to go, but again I hold him back with a plea to stay. He humors me and returns to his chair, and I almost laugh at how defeated we both seem, each in our own way.

"Are you going to tell me why you did what you did? And I don't mean answer more questions, just tell me, in your own words."

He shrugs, then leans his elbows onto his knees so that he can hold his face in his hands before he looks back at me.

"Do you really want to know? You've been so careful to avoid asking the questions you don't want an answer to until now."

"So you noticed?"

"Of course I did. You could have just asked me outright what I will do to you eventually, and what I did to all the others, but instead you fish around for details so you can beat yourself up more once I'm gone again, and blame yourself for not seeing all the red flags that I couldn't cover up quickly enough."

I don't comment on that, he already knows that he is right, no need to stroke his ego any further. It still baffles me how he can know me so well, but at the same time do something like this.

"If you want to be kind to me, just tell me the parts you think I want to know. Like, why do you always choose escorts? Besides the fact that whores don't really have a good support system, and no one misses them when they just disappear."

"You forget the fact that they long for someone to really love them, no matter what, and that all of them are really good at molding themselves into what they should be to do their job."

I nod, then clear my throat.

"That, too. Was that my first mistake, not running for the door when you described me as your perfect woman when it was so obvious that I didn't just fit the mold on the outside, but also on the inside?"

"Actually, if you want to call it that, your first mistake was seeing through Carlisle's little power trip and convincing me that you really didn't care what he did to you."

"Because you thought that would make me gullible enough so you could do the same, just on so many more levels than just physically?"

He shakes his head, momentarily frustrated.

"No. That evening, when we talked, was the first time I saw you as my equal. Someone who sees so easily through the bullshit people keep lugging around, and is able to rise above such petty squabbles. That's when I knew that you are the perfect woman for me, not just in description, or some superficial traits."

That actually surprises me.

"Really?"

"Yes. Then again you partially ruined the effect by proving that you couldn't really be trusted to stick to a confidentiality agreement, and it didn't help that while you wanted to be so strong, you really showed me just how vulnerable you can be. It made me realize that you needed my help to become the woman you could be. And I failed you."

I blink, not having to act confused.

"You did? I mean, besides locking me up in your basement, but I don't think you're referring to that."

He shakes his head.

"No. I misjudged you. I thought you were like the other ones, pretending to be strong but needy and weak on the inside. It was already too late when I realized that your weakness was only part of who you are inside, something that makes you human but doesn't necessarily keeps you from what you want. You were perfect when I met you, and I should never have tried to change you."

The way he says it, it sounds almost like a compliment. I'm about to ask him why he thinks he has the right to judge people like that, but I guess I'll only get an, 'I do' as reply, so I leave it be.

"You could have stopped, apologized, and explained things to me. We could have tried again, a fresh start, you know?"

"You don't really believe that," he sighs, then looks more intently at me. "Like me, you don't really give second chances. I knew that things were slipping when you started working for Esme, that's why I panicked and rushed ahead, but that only made matters worse. Before, Esme's approval of the women I chose was always a good sign, but with you it was different. You were changing, for me, but not into something better. I hoped that things would get better when I proposed to you, but you only kept floundering more, and then I realized that it was too late."

"It's never too late," I try to offer, but the look he gives me tells me that we both know that I'm just trying to appease him.

Silence falls. I feel defeat creep up my spine, and to have something to do to keep it at bay at least until I'm alone again, I grab the bottle and drink some of my precious water. I'm always thirsty now, and talking so much doesn't help my parched throat, but I don't ask for a second one.

"So this is your thing, then? Take in stray girls from the street, offer them the world in exchange for turning them into the women you think they could be, only to find out it doesn't work?"

I didn't intend for my words to come out so harsh, but I'm bitter, and it's getting harder to hide and try to be polite. Edward just stares back for a while.

"I guess you could say that. I need a woman I can love and see as my equal at the same time, and usually none of them come close to my standards. Until I met you."

"What was so special about me?" It's not like I could be proud of whatever he'll answer now, but I want to know what got me into this mess in the first place.

"Your confidence. Your self-assuredness. I've never met anyone who was so happy with where she was in life like you."

"Then why try to change me when you saw me like that?"

He shrugs.

"False presumptions, I guess. Many escorts are confident, but they usually do what they do for a reason. Money to put them through school, to raise their children, to help support their families, dependencies of a different kind on the pimp who turned them into what they are. I know you told me you do what you do because you like it, but I guess I didn't entirely believe you."

He stops, then leans closer.

"Usually, when Carlisle makes his move, things start to clear up. All that pretense of them loving their work crumbles, and they hunger for love and support. You were just as vulnerable that evening as all the others before, whether from what he did, or if he played it differently, from the guilt of having enjoyed themselves with someone so close to me while thinking they were going behind my back. But the difference was, you didn't really let it get to you, you shrugged it off. I didn't believe you when you said you take the good with the bad, but still love what you do, but I should have. I stuck too closely to a plan that had worked so well so many times, but this time that was the one thing I should have avoided. I guess it served me right that I ruined my perfect opportunity."

It grates that he refers to me as that, but I don't think he notices the effect his words have on me.

"Did you ask Esme to offer me the job to get me, I don't know, back on track or something?"

He shakes his head.

"No. It would have been easy to get her to do it, after all she never gets just how easy it is for me to make her do what I want her to, but I didn't. I was even afraid for a day when you said you thought she didn't approve of our marriage, because until I talked to her there was the possibility that she could have finally seen through my act of being her adoring protégé. But no, she just didn't want me to get hurt if you weren't strong enough to be my wife." He chuckles, clearly amused by that notion. Then he gets serious again. "Charity work also doesn't suit you. You're a powerful woman, used to handling power, you shouldn't have stooped so low and basically been someone else's secretary."

That baffles me.

"I thought you wanted to support me in whatever I chose to do?"

"You didn't seem too fulfilled or happy with the work she gave you, and it was obvious that you just did it because you thought it was something I would approve."

"So you really would have been more content if I'd never stopped working as an escort?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that? I wanted you to do what made you happy. What gave your purpose. The only thing I was concerned about was your safety, that's all. Are you really so full of self-loathing that you still can't believe me?"

"I've always believed you when you said that."

"Then why ask again and again?"

I shrug, then stare at the cuff for a couple of seconds.

"Maybe because it would be so much easier to believe that as a motive for why I ended up here. There are so many people out there who can't accept my choice, who would even wish something bad to happen to me because of it."

"So you'd rather I were some vengeful psychopath?"

"I said it would be easier to believe, not that I'd prefer it."

Edward smiles briefly, but it disappears quickly as he goes on.

"But all that doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done."

I hate the finality of his tone as much as the words themselves.

"You give up on me very quickly. On us."

He laughs, shaking his head.

"No, I just don't deceive myself, hoping for something I can't have anymore. That's one lesson I learned well."

"From Tanya?"

I just have to ask about her, although at the same time I don't want to know. He cocks his head in turn, studying me with new interest.

"So you are curious about her."

"Of course I am. Just because I didn't snoop doesn't mean I want to ignore that she still seems to mean so much to you."

"I told you before, I'm not the kind of man who just brushes off a lost love just because it's gone."

I don't reply, just wait for him to go on, and eventually he does.

"She was different than most. Until I met you, I thought she was as close as any woman would ever get to being perfect."

"She was the first? The one you measure all other women against?" I wonder.

"No, she was the last before you." He pauses, then resumes. "I met her at one of Esme's events. She was there as Carlisle's companion, you could say, another one of his attempts to get a rise out of his wife. Unlike you, she held herself to strong work ethics, and wouldn't even accept my card when I offered. It took me months for her to take me on as a client, and almost a year until she even considered letting me become more. She was really good at reading people, not just their reactions and needs, which is your forte; she never let her emotions get the better of her when it came to that. I think that was what made her wary of me."

"But, of course, you eventually succeeded?"

"I always do. Only that things didn't get better the closer we grew. I realized that she didn't want anyone to love her, accept her as she was, because she didn't love or accept herself. The more considerate I was, the more she scrutinized my every move, second guessed my motives, became suspicious. Eventually, she stumbled across a box I keep at the back of a shelf in my bedroom, where I store a few mementos of my lost loves. She became ballistic, full of jealousy of women who couldn't even become a threat to her anymore. And, unlike you, she didn't take kindly to being imprisoned down here. She wrecked the entire room, fought until I had to sedate her. She did so much damage."

"To the furniture?" I can't help being incredulous about that. Edward holds my gaze and snorts.

"To herself."

Looking around, the setup of the room makes more sense now. I almost feel like laughing, seeing as he seems to have tried to make it safer for me. When my gaze skims back to him, it snatches on the cuff and its short leash.

"That, too? Even if I wanted to do anything, I couldn't really do it because I can't get away from the bed, or even use my other hand."

He's silent for a moment.

"When all else failed, she tried to strangle herself with the chain. Strangulation leaves such unsavory marks. You're not the type suited for wearing a scarf."

His words hold a certain somberness that scares me again because of the implication it holds. I try to hold his gaze, but I have to look away, my stomach churning with fear sending goose bumps up and down my limbs.

"Is she still alive?"

I just have to ask, not knowing will drive me crazy, I know that. Edward shakes his head, but doesn't volunteer any more information.

This time I don't hold him back when he gets up, but I still notice the sadness in his eyes before he leaves me.

I'm alone again, but now I'm almost glad that he's gone. In my mind, I see the image of another woman lying where I am now, only she's not docile, but trying to free herself. I admire her for her strength, because from what he told me it sounds like she fought until the very end, and didn't think about giving up. I can't hold it against her that because of her fight my own condition seems worse.

My eyes keep returning to the cuff, and eventually I can't help it, I have to tug on it again, then run my fingers over the sleek metal. It's just snug enough to hold my wrist captive, the bones of my hand keeping it in place. No amount of lotion or oil, if I even had any, could help make my hand slippery enough for it to slip through.

But if I managed to somehow smash them enough, I could get it off. Maybe.

As grisly as the thought of maiming myself like that is, it gives me new hope. As Edward himself said before, it's good to know my options. It might not be much of an option right now, with the outer door locked again, but it's a start.

My excitement at that realization only lasts a couple of minutes, but I force myself to hang on to that new thread of hope. As much as my stomach is aching, I don't reach for any of the pills, because I need my head to be clear.

One thing I can't do anymore, and that is to lie on the bed and wait for something to happen. Staring up at the ceiling, I skim with my free hand over the rail that the cuff is linked to, trying to find a weak spot.

Of course I don't find one, but my fingers snag on something at the back, bare inches between the metal and the wall. I keep following it, feeling the ridges and uneven edges of it until I hit the spot where it is stuck into the plaster of the wall. I don't pull it out yet, too afraid that I will drop it, but when I crane my neck far enough, I get a glimpse of it.

It seems to be some piece broken off from the destroyed furniture Edward mentioned, jagged and rough. As far as my fingers can tell, the makeshift edge is sharp, but it's not thick enough to be used as a sawing tool.

No, it's a weapon, judging from the tapered tip on the end not disappearing into the wall.

As my eyes keep skipping over it, I notice that there are faint scrape marks in the rail where whoever hid this here probably tried to sharpen it more. It doesn't really look very effective, but if I could just get close to Edward, and distract him so that he doesn't see me pull it from its hiding place, I might have a single chance to use it.

And considering where I am right now, on the bed, the fingers of my free hand so close to it that I could easily use it, an idea is slowly forming in my mind.

He always leaves the door unlocked when he's in here with me, so that is the time frame I can use to escape, if I just incapacitate him enough to keep me from making a run for it. That still leaves the problem of the cuff, but I'm sure that when the time comes, desperation will lend me the will to do something about that as well.

Now I just need him to come back, and trust me enough to come close to me. I'm suddenly relieved that I haven't put up much of a fight yet, because he has no reason to expect me to now. For all I know, he is thinking that I have already given up, using pleas as my only hope now.

I think the time has come to turn the tables on him, and surprise him with something he'll never see coming.

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><p><strong>See you next Tuesday-ish!<strong>

**If you want to grab ahold of me more directly, you can do so on facebook (Daria Chenowith) and twitter (DariaChenowith)!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Huge Thank Yous go to V and sheviking for helping me edit this chapter, and prassacut and chrissy1201 for the best comments on a chapter ever (and all the hand holding they always do, as well, of course!)**

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><p>Time is slowly becoming my enemy.<p>

My forced inactivity is killing me, or at least it is gnawing on my sanity. For days now I've been forced to remain basically in the same spot, with only my thoughts for company, except for Edward's visits. With no means of measuring the passage of time, I have no idea how long I've been down here, but it must have been days since I last breathed in fresh air, or had anything to eat. Hunger is a constant low pain in my middle now, like a low hum in the back of my mind, easy to ignore, but it doesn't go away. When I run my hand over my body, I can feel myself getting thinner, not much, but enough to notice. At this rate, I can easily survive without food for a month at least, but I doubt that my mind will last even half as long. Almost from the moment Edward leaves me after our long talk, I'm waiting for him to come back, counting the seconds, listening for the faintest of sounds of anyone approaching.

At the same time, I dread his return just as much as I yearn for it. I know that my escape plan is sketchy at best, and there are many possible pitfalls in it. I feel I might come up with a solution if I just have enough time, which is ironic, really, as time is about the only thing I have.

Besides the obvious physical obstacles, I have to admit that I don't know if I will find the mental strength to do what I have to do. As much as I'm afraid of probably having to break the bones in my hand to get the cuff off, it's easier to consider that than openly attacking Edward. It's not even the fear of what he might do to me if I don't succeed – I'm sure that I won't have that long to be afraid for my life then – but the pure uncertainty of whether I can turn on him. I know that in direct self-defense I could probably do a lot; panic and desperation are powerful drives to override any moral code instilled in most people. But what I plan to do won't be like that, because I can't let things progress to where I have to defend myself – I have to go into offense.

Despite everything he has done to me, and all the gruesome things that my mind can come up with that he might yet do, he is still the man I love, and everything inside of me is screaming at the idea of hurting him.

When my indecision reaches the point where I'm almost ready to give up on my plan before taking even a first step, I force my mind to empty, and then focus on the physical steps alone. Lure him close. Distract him. Get my weapon out of hiding, and find an angle where I can do the most damage that will incapacitate him. Once that is done, I need a way to get rid of the cuff. And after that – freedom.

Try as I might, I don't come up with a contingency plan. With all the million things that might go wrong, there's only one narrow path leading out of this prison, and that's the path I have to choose.

But I don't know if I can even get him close enough for this to work. I don't know if I can hurt him. I don't know if I can find a way to smash my wrist, and if that will even work besides maiming myself. And even if all that works, I still have to get out of the outer room. And the house. And then I have to flee, get away, hide. I will have to do all of that myself, because I'm the only one who will come to my rescue, at least until I'm safe. Thinking of that, and the possibility of not even getting there, makes my heart sink, so I end up repeating the same words over and over in my head.

I will be strong. I will not falter.

Yet when, endless hours later, the bolt disengages and Edward comes in to join me again, I feel weak and useless.

Same as before, he comes in, briefly checks that I'm not about to hurl myself at him or something like that, before he places the water bottle on the bedside table, and fills up the pill cups. All of my escape plotting and planning has kept me safe from considering that other option, the one he described as my last choice – suicide. As my gaze lingers on the pills, the temptation is there, and getting stronger the longer I think about it. I guess it would be an easy death, almost gentle, if I just take them all at once. The hunger will go away, my fear and anxiety will be dulled to a minimum, and I'll likely fall asleep never to wake up again – if I don't throw up and end up being half conscious while my body writhes in agony for hours, until it's over. But I wouldn't have to attack him, and it would be my decision.

Strange as it is, that only strengthens my resolve that escape is the way to go.

While I've been transfixed with the pills, Edward has taken his seat, although he seems somewhat uncomfortable when I finally look at him. I'm sure he knows what I've just been thinking - hopefully minus the attacking him and running off part - and it's weirdly soothing to know that he doesn't take the fact that I could just kill myself, lightly.

My previous doubt returns at that. I don't even know for sure that he's going to kill me, or that he killed the women before me. Tanya is dead, but it might have been an accident, he might have even let her go. While the thought makes my skin crawl, I could deal with him keeping me here for weeks, until he grows tired of me, if he'd just set me free in the end.

But no, he said I wouldn't be here long enough to starve for real. And all those comments, to me, and those I've overheard him mutter in the other room, paint a much grislier picture.

I realize then that I need to know one more detail to be able to fully commit myself to my plan. So far I've stayed away from asking, simply because I've been afraid that if I know that my theories are right, and he really killed a whole slew of women before me and somehow keeps them in the outer room, I'd just go insane on the spot, or be too useless to formulate any kind of plan, least of all one that will work. Uncertainty has made my skin crawl the entire time, but it was better than knowing. But not anymore.

"I'm not going to leave here alive, am I?"

Edward is silent for several seconds, seconds I spend holding my breath with my thoughts ground to a halt. I don't want to know, and still I have to.

Then he shakes his head, the sadness returning to his gaze. "No."

I exhale noisily, while I feel my body relax. Somehow, I feel a little like an air mattress someone has pulled the plug of, as I slowly deflate. Still, it's not fright that grips me, but calm that washes over me. Certainty comes as a relief, if a final and desolate one.

He keeps watching my face, clearly waiting for a reaction besides my audible sigh, but for several seconds I can't bring myself to do anything but stare at the nondescript ceiling.

"Are you disgusted by me now?"

His question surprises me, enough so to help me step out of my brief oasis of acceptance. I frown as I scan his face, trying to judge what he wants to hear, but it's impossible to say.

"No."

He mirrors my frown then, then cocks his head to the side as he keeps looking at me inquisitively.

"You know what my answer implies, right?"

"Of course."

My short answers seem to rub him the wrong way now, and I wonder if he wants some kind of absolution from me, but that doesn't seem to be it.

"And still you are not disgusted?"

"No. Frightened, yes, but not disgusted."

He remains quiet, mulling that over, and I see my opening. Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I try to remain as calm as before, while I watch his physical reaction closely. The first time he stayed with me he was still cautious, almost waiting for me to try to test my boundaries or even attack him, but not so anymore. He knows that on his chair, he's out of my reach, unless I resort to throwing the bottle, and my water is too precious to me for that. And empty plastic bottles aren't exactly lethal.

We keep staring at each other for a while, and it's not hard to let my own sadness show. It certainly doesn't come from the same source as his, but the bleakness that comes with wanting to give up is still inside of me, and it's easy to let him see it.

"I miss you," I eventually break the silence, then extend my left, free hand towards him. It's a completely non-threatening gesture, considering that it's the hand farther away from him, and I can't even reach more than over my body with it. No, it's an invitation, even, and I let my shoulders sag when he doesn't come closer to take my hand.

"You know what I did to you and still you want my touch?"

He sounds so incredulous that for a moment my stomach sinks, the foundations of my escape plan already crumbling. But I haven't spent the last years seducing men for nothing, and I don't really have to lie as I reply.

"Knowing doesn't change the way I feel about you. Yes, I'm afraid of you, and I still don't want to die, but that doesn't mean that I don't miss you. The feeling of your skin against mine. Gentle touches. Kisses. Your arms around me as I fall asleep. You."

His eyes skip between my face and my hand now lying on my thigh, and he seems conflicted. My heart skips a beat when I realize that he's uncertain, and unable to say whether I'm telling the truth, or not.

"Edward? Please?"

I extend my hand again, and using his name in connection with my plea finally sways him. He gets up and comes closer, then hunkers down just close enough to reach my fingers with his own. His skin is as warm and soft as always as our fingertips touch, and it doesn't really cost me much resolve not to yank my hand back when he runs his thumb gently over mine. I'm even sure that if I'd close my eyes, I could convince myself that this isn't any different than the millions of times we've touched each other before. I can see the same knowledge on his face, and it makes me want to high-five myself.

Come a little closer, said the spider to the fly.

He's the one to break contact again, probably because he has to shift his body to retain his balance, and I physically feel the loss of his touch deep down. I look at my fingers for a moment, then to his, before I catch his gaze and hold it.

The room is clogging up with emotion and sadness, almost enough for me to want to cry, although it's frustration and impatience that fuels those tears. I can't hold a sob in when it gets too much, and Edward looks guilty as hell. He moves closer, but catches himself before he can fully reach my face and brush away the tear spilling from my right eye. As he shies back, I force another strangled sound from low in my throat, then turn my head away from him as I pull up my knees to hide my face against them. My greasy, unwashed hair falls forward, hiding me from him, letting me relax my facial muscles for a moment so I can keep up the facade longer.

"And now you don't even want to touch me anymore!" I wail between more sobs, then noisily pull up the snot forming in my nose. Letting the tears roll down my cheeks doesn't bring relief as real crying would, but I know that I must be looking a mess when I yank my head up again and stare at him, finding him hovering closer than I expected, but still at a cautious distance.

"Please, stop crying. I can't stand you in so much pain."

I sob, more to disguise the snort I really want to utter than for effect, then draw a shaky breath.

"Why won't you touch me anymore? What have I done that you hate me so much?"

I'm afraid that I'm laying on the theatrics too heavily, or that my irrational display of emotion will turn him away, as he said before that he admires my strength, but not my more girlish moments, but his guilt seems to override his rational part. He looks torn and a little frustrated, and it's eerie that it needed to come to this for him to show his compassionate side. Apparently, no longer having to hide the darkness that lurks in him lets him act more human.

"I could never hate you! I love you – like I've never loved anyone before! Please, just stop crying."

It only takes a few more sniffles, and my clear effort of trying to pull myself together, for him to stop being so distant and run the back of his hand down my cheek. I close my eyes when he turns his hand around to cup that side of my face in it, then place a kiss on his palm before he pulls away again. My smile is sad and watery, but it still draws a similar one from him, and he doesn't move farther away even when we're no longer touching.

"Do you hate me? For all this?"

He doesn't explain what he means, but then he doesn't have to. I shake my head without giving the question some thought. It's the only answer that will help my plan, so I give it automatically.

"No. I don't think I can hate you."

"Not even a little bit?" he ventures, his sad smile turning a little towards a cocky grin. I can't help but chuckle at that, both because of the absurdity of the question, and because that almost boyish smile always draws that reaction from me.

"A little, maybe. I'm not that far gone yet that I can just shrug all this off, you know?"

"I would be disappointed if you would."

It baffles me that even the real anger that simmers inside of me is a reaction he understands, but then he does seem perfectly reasonable about everything he does – unless you count the fact that he can't seem to be able to keep from enacting his plan nevertheless.

"You know me better than that." More a fact than a compliment, really. He nods.

"I do."

Silence falls, but it's more companionable than awkward. My tears dry on my cheeks, and eventually I reach for the tissues I've put from the floor onto my nightstand. I have to move onto my side to come even close to them, and before I have even shifted my weight, Edward already plucks one and holds it out to me. I smile at him as I take it, then blow my nose rather noisily.

"Sorry that I'm such a mess," I mumble as I try to wipe less than uselessly at my face, and he stops me by getting another tissue and doing it for me. Before, that show of caring might have made me feel warm, but now it creeps me out when I consider why he might be so proficient at it.

"Nothing to be sorry for," he replies, then studies my face intently before he nods briefly, more to himself than me. "Beautiful as ever."

I doubt that, considering how I must look after days without even washing my face and hands, but I don't openly disagree with him. From what I know about Edward, and what I've learned in the past days, he probably doesn't even mean any superficial beauty I might or might not have.

Once he has moved back to sit on his haunches again he keeps looking at me as if I still owe him an explanation, and thinking back about what we have been talking, I guess I do.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy with how things turned out. But I still love you, and I think if our relationship had ended the conventional way, I would never be able to really shake off my feelings for you. You're different, and I don't think I'd ever feel the same for anyone that I do for you. You just see me as I am, without any judgment or false .

moralism, and you love me just the same. I'd never have found anyone who'd accept me like that, and appreciate me for who I am."

He doesn't point out that due to his scheming that's not even entirely true, but I mean the words nevertheless. It's part of the reason why my situation is so frustrating – I know that if things had been just a little different, I would likely have been happy with him until the natural end of my life, never even suspecting what lurks underneath, both in regards to his psyche, and the two rooms. We were – no, still are – perfect for each other, and in many ways he has forever ruined me for anyone else, in the best and worst possible way.

Edward doesn't answer, but there's nothing he could say to that, anyway. As sad as my thoughts make me, the fact that he accepts my words as they are lets the small flame of hope inside of me grow just a little more.

"How much longer are we going to keep playing this game?" I ask, then nod at the still unopened bottle on the table.

"As long as we need to," is all he offers me in return. I nod solemnly, then reach for my water. Like with the tissues, he helpfully opens the bottle and hands it to me, and after drinking about half of it slowly, I give it back to him again. He must see my lack of response as docile defeat, because guilt comes creeping back onto his features, but I let him stew just a little while longer before I go in for the catch.

"And you're sure about not giving me anything to eat? Not even a last meal?"

Again, he shakes his head. I look down at my knees, continuing with the demure display, before I catch his gaze again.

"But will you at least grant me one last wish?"

He's not stupid enough to say he'll do anything for me, so at least I don't have to try the "just let me go" routine again.

"Depends on what you ask for, but I'll try to do my best."

"Make love to me one last time."

Besides the few things he told me about Tanya, I don't have a clue how the other girls before me fared, but I'm pretty sure that none of them ever asked that of him. Edward looks almost dumbstruck for a couple of seconds, before a light frown appears between his brows.

"You want to have sex. With me."

I smile, letting it dip a little towards raucous.

"I think that's the conventional translation of the meaning of those words, yes. And it's so much more fun together than just on my own."

I'm sure that he's been watching me the entire time that I've been down here, so he knows that I haven't really felt much like rubbing one off, but he doesn't even comment on that.

"Why?"

The incredulity in his voice makes mysmile turn into a grin, even though I have to help it a little.

"Because I love you. And because I love sex. The last time we really got to enjoy ourselves, together, was in Paris. Ever since we got back, it was all stress and no time. I'm not a very sentimental person, you know that, but I want our last time together to mean something. I want you to remember me like that, not some scared little girl in your basement."

To underline my words, I twist a little so that I can reach for him, and he doesn't shy away when I touch his cheek like he touched mine not so long ago. His eyes never leave my face, though, and he keeps scrutinizing me until I'm starting to get afraid that he sees right through me. But he has made mistakes judging me before, and like then he still only sees what he wants to see, and that is a desperate, lovesick woman who still, despite everything, wants him. And he still wants me, I can see that in his eyes, plain as day.

To lighten the mood a little, and to keep myself from fidgeting too much, I go on.

"I mean, some water to brush my teeth and wash myself would be wonderful, too, and also quite to your benefit if you do take some pity on me, but I don't want to stretch my luck."

Still he hesitates, but I see that I have him. He slowly licks his lips as his eyes briefly skim to where the nightie stretches over my chest, but he catches my gaze again almost immediately.

"What tells me that you won't try to bite or kick me?"

The thought makes me laugh, a little too hysterical, and I quickly cast around for a good explanation for my reaction. Not that I have to think very long.

"Seriously? Even on the best of days, you outweigh me, and you can easily overpower me. I'm weak and chained to the bed, utterly helpless. You could do pretty much anything to me that you want." I lean closer towards him then, hoping that the familiarity in my body language will underline my words. "But I know that you are you, and you'd never do anything to hurt me. I want you, and as I said before, I'm not afraid of your touch. I need you. I love you. Edward, please, make love to me?"

He knows that I'm right – and I even think he really doesn't want to hurt me, if he can help it – and I see a clear flicker of something very close to arrogant triumph in his eyes before he tones it down. Oh, he thinks he has me right there, his besotted, willing, helpless wife-to-be, and who am I to discourage him of that notion?

I can see the moment when he gives in just the same, as some of the tension leaves his body before he leans towards me. He really doesn't seem to care about my bad breath when he gently cradles my face before he brushes his lips over mine, still tentative and slow, but already with familiar certainty.

Some small part of me, locked deep inside, is screaming, clamoring at me that I can't do this, that even I must have something close to a conscience and self-respect, but I ignore it. Instead I lean into that kiss, and when I feel the tip of his tongue stroke against my lips, I gladly open them. It doesn't feel any different than any of the hundreds of times before.

I feel him tense a little when I reach for his shoulder, but my touch is warm, yet unassuming, the opposite of aggressive, and before long he joins me on the bed. We don't do much besides kiss at first and slowly explore each other's bodies, until I get him to ditch his shirt and pants. While he undresses, I lay back on the bed and wait, feeling the first flutter of adrenaline deep in my stomach. But it's too early yet, and I don't even dare glance at the bed rail where I know my weapon is hidden behind. So, I just wait and bide my time.

He's still gentle, but acting with more purpose, as he crawls back onto the bed until he's crouching next to me, then slides the hem of my nightie up my thigh as he caresses my skin. I wouldn't want to touch myself anymore after days of no chance at personal hygiene, but he doesn't seem to have the same reservations. Like the good little whore that I am, I eagerly spread my legs when his fingers skim up to my pussy, and I reward him with a smile when he starts to aptly rub my clit while another finger strokes my entrance.

I doubt that I'll get really wet at first, but he's good, and my body is so used to its number one automatic response that before long I feel myself getting aroused. He waits until I'm ready before he slides a finger into me, then leans over me to kiss me hungrily as he keeps going. Using my free hand, I stroke his back and pull him close, while I push my hips up and against his hand, seeking friction that I don't really want, but need on some level anyway. Inside I still feel conflicted, but he doesn't notice any of that as I go through the motions, only half acting when I moan into his mouth.

He's not stupid and he doesn't believe in wonders, and instead of tormenting me for hours in wait of a climax that won't come, he eventually stops and withdraws his hand. When he ditches his boxer shorts I see that he's only partly hard, and I almost wish he'd let me suck him off, but I don't think that even as far gone as he could be in the throes of passion he'd give me that kind of opportunity. As he climbs onto me so that he's between my legs, I also notice that he's paying close attention to always keep my legs either trapped or where I can't seriously kick him.

Although cautious of my teeth, he still lets me stroke his cock with my hand until he's hard enough to enter me. My sigh at feeling him thrust into me is real, and I'm surprised at how much I'm enjoying myself. Maybe I should be feeling bad now, but I don't, and it's easy to let my body take over now, seeing as my mind gets considerably more alert by the minute.

True to my plea, he doesn't just fuck me, but takes his time moving his body in accordance to mine. We kiss, we look deeply into each other's eyes, and the fact that I see so clearly there just how much he loves me almost makes me falter. It could have been so perfect, and despite everything, I feel like I will be the one ruining it, ruining us, with what I'm going to do.

I hate him for getting under my skin like this. I hate him for turning my own mind against me, and my survival. For that alone he deserves what is coming for him.

I can't stand to look at him anymore so I close my eyes, but when I grab the rail with both of my hands, I feel him halt. A glance at his face shows me that he's eyeing my free hand almost suspiciously, and I realize that things aren't going as smoothly as I've been hoping.

"Please," I moan, then buck my hips up against his, shifting the angle of penetration. I feel him tense for a completely different reason then, and let a grin come onto my face. "Please fuck me. I need to feel your cock deep inside me."

Generic words that I've said so many more times than I can remember, and like any other guy before, he, of course, buys them, because they stroke the part of his ego that he has no control over. A little more bucking, and he's moving again, and I laugh softly into his ear when he slides one arm underneath my ass so that he can control his thrusts better.

My response to him picking up his pace is immediate and almost violent in my need for more and more, but it's desperation and the will to live that fuels it, not the need to come. His motions become faster, more erratic, and before long he has to lean on both of his arms to keep them up, displacing his lips from my own. I screw my eyes shut as I grip the rail harder, my nails finding the hidden weapon and digging into it. Just a little more, a few more minutes, and he will come, and so will my only chance.

Already I feel his rhythm become a little erratic, and I do my best to clench around him and writhe underneath him to urge him on. Just before his release, Edward grabs my head and forces me to look at him, and I eagerly kiss him one last time.

A kiss of desperation. A kiss good-bye.

He comes with a low, drawn-out groan before he sags down onto me, but immediately shifts so that he's not lying on me. His hand strokes my face while he blinks sweat out of his eyes, and his smile is as beautiful as ever.

"I love you."

I swallow between pants, trying to catch my breath as much as fight the urge to jump into action immediately.

"I love you, too."

His smile widens at my reply, and his eyes close for a second as he rotates his neck, and that's the opening I've been looking for.

Using the fingers of my cuffed hand, I keep the ragged makeshift weapon pressed against the rail while I dig the end of it out of the plaster wall with my other. It catches for a moment, then comes free, and I almost drop it in my haste to grab it. My eyes remain fixed on Edward's face, but he doesn't react, too far gone still to notice anything.

In the last moment – my arm is already drawn to the side, ready to strike – his eyes open, staring right into mine. My heart breaks for all of the love for me that I see in them, but my arm is still sure as I bring the long splinter up, and shove it into the side of his neck.

Time slows as his mouth drops open and his eyes go wide, and before he can even scream, I move. My legs are still wrapped around his hips so I just need to tighten my hold, then I throw my entire weight into the right side of the bed, towards my cuffed arm. It's not a neat flip, but enough, and I end up half on my side, half perched on Edward, and he's a moment too slow for his arms to come up so that I can lean into my weapon, driving it another inch or two deeper into his neck.

Enough to hurt him, but not enough to take him out.

His fist hits the side of my head hard enough to make me see stars, and when I try to twist, the other hits my kidney, making me yowl in pain. I try to move away from him, but my right leg is still trapped under his from my partial flip, so I can't evade him before he backhands me across the face.

I panic, realizing that my time is running out fast, and do the first thing that I can think of – I pull my weapon out of his neck.

Blood gushes, so much that it completely transfixes me, and he uses my momentary distraction to turn us over again so that I'm back underneath him. I want to punch him, but instinct makes me try to roll into a ball, trying to fend off the next blow.

But the blow doesn't come, only a pained gurgle, before Edward sags down into me, this time with his entire weight. Air leaves my lungs in a loud rush, and the scent of blood makes me gag, then throw up onto the pillow beside me. All through my retching I can feel Edward try to get up, but before I'm done, he stops.

Eerie silence claims the room, my heavy panting so loud in my own ears that I don't hear anything besides the rush of my own blood in my veins.

It takes me a while to get my arms and legs fully between me and Edward, but eventually I manage, and with a shove that takes my entire strength I manage to roll him off me. He lands on the floor, out of my sight, and for several seconds I just lie there, happy to be alive.

Then my mind kicks in, and I scramble up onto my knees close to the head rail. There's a spreading puddle of blood on the floor, and Edward isn't moving, but as far as I'm concerned, that's one of the last items on my list of important things. Right now he's not a threat to me anymore, but I need to get going before things can change.

I have to realize the next flaw in my plan then, when I get up and try to drag the bed away from the wall. It's fitted perfectly between the corner of the room and the nightstand, and without getting the latter out of the way there's no chance that I can get any leverage on the bed. A look down at the bolts reveals that I won't be able to do much about it without any kind of tools – but the wooden legs don't look too sturdy.

I pause for a moment to drain the water bottle, welcoming the sweet, clean taste in my bile filled mouth, before I sweep the pills onto the floor. Sitting down on the nightstand sadly doesn't make it break into pieces, but with my cuffed arm stretched painfully far, I manage to sit on the bed and push my feet into the side of the unruly thing.

Kicking hard, I hiss when I feel one of my ankles twist, but the adrenaline rush inside of my veins is too strong to let that stop me. A couple more kicks and wood splinters, the box top of the nightstand falling backwards out of sight.

I don't even take a second to cheer myself, but instead get onto my feet next to the demolished furniture so that I can start dragging the bed across the room while turning it around 180 degrees. I slip on the blood a few times, and I don't even want to know what the bed bumps into on its way, all I'm focusing on is getting it where I need to.

It takes me forever, but eventually I have the rail close to the door. My muscles scream, and I feel weakness slowly claw its way through my rush. Hopefully, the physically strenuous part is over now – on to the painful one.

What little of the room behind the door I see is dark, but I don't check, just stick my cuffed hand between the door and frame and try to get the largest part of my wrist exactly aligned with the edges of both. The bed needs more rearranging not to be in the way, and my entire arm is shaking by the time I reach for the door across my body and put the flat of my free hand against the smooth wood.

I've always wondered if right handed people can learn to be as ambidextrous as some lefties are.

The first time I slam the door shut, all I do is hurt myself, and not even at the right spot but closer to my knuckles, because I flinch and pull my hand back. I bite down hard on my lip and try again, tears shooting into my eyes. Better aim, but still the same result. The third time I even punch the door with my fist, but while the resulting pain makes me scream, my wrist is still as intact as before.

I'm already starting to panic when I hear a low moan coming from the floor behind me, and that's when some resistance inside of me breaks. Using my right leg instead, I kick the door, then again and again as it keeps swinging shut, until something crunches. I stagger back, momentarily not knowing whether it is my ankle or wrist that gave, but when I end up on the floor, on my ass, two yards away from the door and bed I know that I've succeeded.

The pain is so bad that I almost black out, but adrenaline still keeps me going, and I scramble to my feet as fast as I'm able. I don't look back towards Edward, the door is all I see. And when I open it wide, letting the low light of my room spill into the complete darkness beyond, I see a door directly opposite.

My goal. My finish line. And absolutely the only thing I force myself to focus on as I take the first step into the room. Then another. But try as I might, of course I can't shut off my peripheral vision.

There are twelve of them, standing along the wall and reclining on a sofa and easy chair. All but two have long hair, and I bet that if there was just enough light, it would be brown. Something is glinting in the darkness, something I don't want to make sense of, but my mind unhelpfully supplies the answer on step four. Glass. Eyes.

My breath catches as a different panic grabs hold of my throat and threatens to choke me, but I force myself to just keep going. The throbbing of my hand helps. It's something besides the door I can focus on – something real, vivid, raw – something I can hold onto while my mind wants to dissolve into a hysteric mess.

Seven steps. Eight. Only three more. Then two. One. My unharmed hand touches the door, cool metal against sweaty skin.

I can't stand to be in this room even a moment longer, so I blindly claw for the door handle, almost falling over my own feet somehow in my haste. It opens, flooding my vision with light, and making me sob with gratitude. I hurl myself through it, out into the maintenance room next to the garage, where shelves of supplies are the only witness of my escape.

I try not to, but I have to look back as I reach for the door to slam it shut, or rather pull it closed slowly, as my strength is all but gone. The one in the easy chair, sitting alone and somehow special, is wearing gloves and a scarf. Her hair is lighter than mine, I see now in the light spilling from behind me, the reddish glint looking artificial, not natural brown but colored. I've never seen her before, but still I know her name, and I whisper a hoarse, "Thank you," before I pull the door shut on her, and the answering machine sitting on the table in front of her, then engage the deadbolt.

My knees are so weak that I can't stand on my own anymore, so I lean against the door as I shake and cry, not even for myself, not because of the pain coming from my wrist, not even just because of gratitude. I have no idea if he's still alive or if I've killed him, but either way I feel like my heart is breaking anew with every sobbing breath I take.

I don't know how long I've been standing there – probably just a minute or two – but I know that I'm not safe yet, and I need to get going. Pushing myself away from the door, I stagger across the room, then out into the hallway beyond. To the right there's the car porn, with the staircase leading to the ground floor on my left. I'm already four steps towards the closest car when I hear someone clear his throat behind me.

I freeze.

This cannot be happening. Not with freedom so close that I can almost reach it.

"I'm surprised to see you about at such an ungodly hour, Ms. Swan."

Air rushes out of my lungs, and I feel something close to relief as I realize that it's not Edward, but James. Not much of a relief, but in my current state I'll take any that I can get.

I try to find something witty to reply, but my sense of humor got lost somewhere between possibly killing Edward and walking through his little chamber of former loved ones – who might or might not be dolls, for all I know; I didn't look closely enough. And somehow, things like, "Do you have an avid interest in taxidermy?" never come up in casual conversation.

With nothing else to say, I turn around slowly until I see James lurk next to the electronic controls of the garage door, his usual sneer in place as he stares at me. My lips start to quiver as a new rush of tears threatens to send me to my knees, but I force my knees to lock and somehow keep myself upright.

"I was just thinking about taking a stroll. Couldn't sleep."

My words come out almost unintelligible between my shaking voice and my ragged breathing, but he still seems to understand them somehow. His eyes narrow as he takes in my blood and dirt stained nightie.

"As always, you're horribly underdressed for the occasion."

His remark wrenches a hysterical bout of laughter from me that I can only silence by clapping my hand over my mouth, but thankfully it also serves for him to cut the bullshit. He keeps looking at me for a moment longer, then glances back towards the maintenance room.

"Is he dead?"

I shake my head, then swallow hard until I manage to pry my hand from my mouth and reply.

"I don't know. I really don't. There was so much blood, and -"

His withering glare shuts me up, but I'm grateful for that, because I don't want to blubber like that in front of anyone, least of all him. James gives a curt nod, then takes a step forward.

I know that he will be coming for me now, like the good, trained bloodhound that he is, and he'll drag me back into that room, and if I'm lucky they won't beat me too much because that would just leave unsavory bruises.

Sobbing loudly, I fall to my knees, then try to raise my hands in prayer, but my right one hurts too much for that.

"Please, please don't do it, just kill me now if you must, but please, don't lock me up again!"

My wail echoes through the room, but it remains unanswered, until the loud, grating noise of the garage door shuts me up. I stare stupidly at James, then at the opening door that lets cool, fresh night air spill in.

"If you turn left, away from the city, you'll find a taxi stand about half a mile down the road at the intersection."

With that he turns, but I can't hold back one final question.

"Why?"

He understands what I mean as he halts and glances back at me, the gaze in his eyes still as hostile as ever, but now I see something else, maybe pity, lurking in there.

"Don't you understand that I've never been your enemy?"

I stare stupidly after him until he's out of my sight, then I scramble to my feet and run.

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><p><strong>See you next weekend! Only 2 more chapters left!<strong>

**If you want to grab ahold of me more directly, you can do so on facebook (Daria Chenowith) and twitter (DariaChenowith)!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Couldn't have done this without the tremendously appreciated help of V and sheviking for the rough stuff, and my personal cheerleaders, prassacut & chrissy1201.**

**I owe a lot of you a huge THANK YOU! for being so mature and supportive about the story (independent of whether you liked the twist), leaving me reviews and comments on FB and twitter that didn't let me lose faith in humanity! You're a great bunch!**

**Prassacut & I are working on a Q&A about the fic, so if you have any questions that will probably not get answered in the remaining chapters, please ask! I'll post the answers together with the last chapter.**

**I'm also getting interviewed for the FanficAholic Anon blog next weekend (not just about TEMC), if you have any questions for them, you can send them in! (Indie Cullen on FB, or I can give you the email address, or we'll work something out).**

**Now, please, enjoy!**

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><p>The night air is cold on my sweaty skin; the pavement hard under the bare soles of my feet. My entire body is screaming to run, just get away as fast and as far as possible, but with the worst of the adrenaline rush gone, I feel my energy wane quickly now. But I'm free, that's all I can think of, and it's that thought that drives me on, even when every new breath hurts in my lungs, and every new step jars my ruined wrist.<p>

The gate is open, and the street beyond, deserted. I don't have a clue how late or early it is, but it must be in the middle of the night because none of the windows of the houses around are illuminated, and no cars come down the road. I hesitate for a moment as I reach the end of the driveway, then turn in the direction James has given. There is no sense in not trusting him, because if he really were out to get me, it would have been easy for him to simply drag me back into the room and let me starve to death.

Very soon fright is the one thing that gets me going, when my body is starting to shut down. Days without food and barely enough water to keep me alive are taking their toll now, but I can't stop, I have to go on. Even though it is quiet, my mind is taunting me with the sounds of someone coming after me, either by foot or car, making my heart skip a beat every so often.

The three idling taxis on the curb are a most welcome sight, and I feel myself launch into one last sprint to make it to their relative safety.

Only when the driver of the first - who's right now leaning against the side, smoking a cigarette - looks at me with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open, do I realize that I must be quite the sight.

Coming to a lumbering halt in front of him, I take a moment to look down at myself. The previously white cotton nightie is soiled and torn in places, blood and sweat making it stick to my filthy skin. What I can see of the hair hanging into my eyes is matted and disheveled, the oily strands in no better condition than anything else about me. The darkness does a good job hiding the condition of my hand, but the fact that I keep it pressed against my side, like the wounded animal that I am, must be speaking volumes.

We stare at each other for several seconds, and the flicker of hope in me is already starting to die down, when the driver manages to close his mouth and find his voice.

"Do you want me to take you to a hospital, Miss?"

A good question, and one I really want to answer with "yes", but can't. He frowns when I shake my head violently.

"I … I need to go home."

"You need to go see a doctor," he ignores me, his voice taking on a tone as if he was talking to an animal, or maybe a small child.

"It's not my blood," I try to explain, but my voice breaks on the last word, and I doubt that he understands what I'm trying to say.

"Were you in an accident? You should inform the authorities as well. Here, let me at least call an ambulance for you -"

"No!"

The vehemence of my answer makes him drop his hand that has been reaching for the phone in the chest pocket of his shirt, and I don't like the look on his face as he scrutinizes me more closely.

"I should call the cops anyway," he goes on, reaching into his car for his radio.

I feel my anxiety spike, a hoarse whimper coming over my lips, but before I can say more, the driver of the last car in the row approaches, and interrupts him with a sure sounding, "I've got this."

Years of habit make me smile at him, or try to, but the pity on his face doesn't disappear, so I guess I'm not doing a good job. At his outstretched arm toward his taxi I follow him, but stop as he opens the door for me to let me inside.

"I don't have any money."

"I figured that," he grunts amicably, and when he keeps holding the door for me, I shuffle inside. I wince as he shuts the door, then wait for him to take his place behind the steering wheel. Before I can tell him where to go, he catches my gaze over the rear view mirror, then rattles off my address.

Fright, so cold and vicious it physically hurts in my chest, grips me, and I try to twist around to reach for the door handle, but he stops me as he reaches back, his hand gentle on my outstretched arm.

"Easy there. Whatever happened to you, I'm not gonna hurt you. But that's your address, right? You never gave it when I dropped you off, always somewhere around, but you usually use it for pick-ups."

My hand freezes with my fingers shaking inches away from the door handle, and I turn to look at him. Compassion is still in his eyes, but no scorn or disgust.

"You know who I am?"

He laughs, and shakes his head, but then shrugs.

"Not your name, but you're not the only beautiful woman who goes to many different addresses, hotels usually, during all hours of the day. But you're one of those who always has a smile for me, and tip very well. So, home?"

I nod, then force myself to relax. A flicker of guilt breaks through the fear when I realize that I don't recognize him, but I've never really paid much attention to the taxi drivers who have been a constant in my daily work for years. He starts the car, then eases out onto the street, and I feel a little better than before with every mile I get farther away from my imprisonment.

"You should go to the cops, though. Whoever did this to you deserves to be locked up, and you'll likely just get a fine, anyway."

I shake my head again but don't reply, and he doesn't say anything else. In a different situation I would have agreed with him and the other guy, and would have gone to Rose instead to get her help – and that of her lawyer – to give a statement at the next precinct, but this isn't just a job gone wrong, another john thinking he can beat up a whore and get away with it because she's scum.

No, the moment they'd hear who I'm accusing of doing whatnot to me, they'd tear me apart. And even if someone believed me, they wouldn't tear down Edward's front door and search the entire house, like they do in the movies. Whether he's still alive or not, James would keep them away long enough to make everything disappear, and I'd be left a liar. Even more unlikely, if they did find anything and locked Edward up right away, he's still a powerful man with virtually unlimited resources. I doubt that I'd live to see another day.

Right now, I don't give a shit about justice. I want to live, and if I stay in this town where he can hunt me down himself, or send someone after me, I'm already dead.

My street looks so peaceful and quiet, just like always, and I stare at my dark, empty house for a while, even after the car has come to a halt.

"Want me to drive you somewhere else instead? To a friend, maybe? Family?"

I shake my head when I see that there are lights on in Jasper's kitchen. I know that I must be almost the last person he wants to see, but I have to warn him. Edward already sent James after him once. There's no guessing what he'd likely do to him now, if he's still in any condition to do anything to anyone.

I wordlessly get out of the car, then start walking toward his door, my new goal making me forget almost everything else. I owe it to him to warn him.

"Miss? Shall I stay here a while longer?"

Only his shout after me makes me realize that I've completely forgotten about the taxi driver. I must be in severe shock, but that makes sense, both from the physical and emotional trauma. I freeze, then turn around to look at him, forcing myself to quit shivering for a moment.

"Thank you, I'm good."

I can see that he doesn't buy that, and he nods, yet stays put. I turn back toward the house, then take the last few steps. A different kind of anxiety grips me then, that has nothing to do with my general level of fright, and everything to do with the fact that I've blindly brought all this on myself and Jasper alike. He has every right to hate me, and I know I deserve it, but just then the thought alone makes me want to cry.

Instinctively, I try to raise my right hand to knock, but thankfully the muscles in my arm have locked down by now so that I don't even manage. I stare down at it stupidly for a moment, then raise my left and pound against the wood, once, twice, before I shout his name.

"Jasper? Please open up! It's me, Bella."

Although I don't consciously do it, my hand keeps pounding, louder and louder each time my fist hits the wood. Suddenly, the door opens, and I feel myself lurch forward, but manage to find my balance before I end up sprawling on the floor.

Jasper stands there, the light from the kitchen bright at his back so that I can't really make out his face, but the bruise on his cheek is still visible, as is the bandage on his left arm. I almost start to sob at the mere sight of him, and after a second he steps a little to the side so that the light hits his face.

I've expected revulsion and disdain, but there's just disbelief and a growing sense of horror there.

"What happened to you?"

Part of me wants to laugh at the almost neutral question, but I understand that he must be stunned to see me, and even more in this condition.

"Edward," I start, and I can see that dropping that name alone makes alarm bells in Jasper's head go off, but suddenly I can't stop talking. "He drugged me, and locked me up in his basement, and I think he killed twelve other women, or at least keeps their bodies down there, and -"

And then I start to cry, loud sobs that shake my entire body, while incoherent jumbles keep pouring out of me. Before I can fall down, Jasper jumps toward me and catches me, then helps me inside, and I think he also shouts something to the taxi driver, but I'm not sure. Grief as much as fear keeps me shaking for minutes, even after Jasper sits me down on a chair while he kneels in front of me, his arms still holding my shoulders to keep me upright. I can see that my distress and incoherent babbling makes him anxious, but that quickly turns to something else when he tries to comfort me by rubbing my arms, but makes me cry out in pain when his fingers stray toward my wrist.

"Holy shit, what did that lunatic do to you?"

I try to pull my hand away, suddenly self-conscious of the injury, but he doesn't let me. His touch is gentle but I still hiss and wince as he slowly turns my hand palm up, then down. The skin is unbroken, but by now there's massive bruising and swelling, and my thumb doesn't align right with the other fingers.

"You need to go to a hospital, else you'll never get the full functionality back."

"I can't. He'll find me and hunt me down if I do that. It will be the first place where he'll look."

Jasper sends me a quizzical look and opens his mouth to disagree, but then shuts it again, probably when he thinks about the visit James paid him.

"Some of the bones seem to be broken. They need to be set. I think they always say within four hours, or they'll have to re-break them."

"I don't care; I can live with just one good hand." I want to add that I can't live locked in that basement, but before I can utter the words, my gaze falls on the sink and the empty glass of water next to it, rekindling my thirst that has been all but forgotten with my entire body in pain.

Jasper sees what I'm looking at, and quickly gets up to bring me a glass. My good hand is shaking so much that he has to help me drink. I try to take small sips, but instinct overrides my brain so that I gulp it down fast, only to throw up almost immediately. He has to catch me again, and while he straightens us both to sit me back into the chair, it seems to occur to him that I've lost some weight.

"Did he starve you?"

I simply nod, my eyes still focused on the glass.

"No food, and almost no water."

Curses of which I hadn't thought him capable drip over Jasper's lips, while he walks over to the fridge and starts rummaging in it. I watch him with confusion as he starts pouring milk and sugar into the blender, then adds bananas to the mix. When he returns with the makeshift milk shake he only lets me have small sips of it, but at least I manage to keep it down. When I've finished about half of it, Jasper kneels before me again, apparently trying to appear non-threatening, although I want to tell him that that's not necessary.

"You need to go to the hospital," he tries again. I'm starting to get sick of people telling me that. Taking a deep breath, I look him in the eyes, and do my best to keep my voice steady.

"He'll come after me, if he's still alive. I have to go, far, far away, and disappear. When I'm somewhere safe, I can get my hand fixed, and I can start a new life, but first I have to get away." I stop then and look at the oven clock, but as I don't know when I got here, I have no idea how long I've been sitting in his kitchen. "I need to go. I just came here to warn you. You should leave."

I try to get up then, but Jasper pushes me back down onto the chair with ease. I stare stupidly at him for a moment, then try again, but he won't have any of that.

"I can't let you go like this. You won't even make it over to your house."

"I'm not going to my house. He'll look there right after searching the ERs."

"Then come with me."

I stare at him for several heartbeats, then look around. I haven't really noticed just how empty the room is, or the two cardboard boxes by the door, but now that makes sense.

"You're leaving?" Not the most intelligent question, but my mind is still sluggish.

Jasper nods. "I quit my job when I got home from the hospital, then put everything I don't really need in storage, and packed up the rest." He stops, then scratches his head almost defiantly. "I should have left days ago, but always found a reason to keep postponing my plans for another day or two. Guess I was still hanging around hoping to see you one last time."

I don't know how to reply to that, and the smile I want to get onto my face just doesn't seem to appear.

"I'm glad you did." I'm selfish, I really am, but tonight I'm running high on my own self-preservation supply. Strangely enough, Jasper grins briefly in return.

"Me too."

He hands me another glass of milk shake, then stretches.

"I'll head over to your house to get you some clothes, okay? Do you need help showering?" He blushes a deep red then, and stammers something about that not coming out right, but I stop him as I come to my feet.

"Don't leave me alone, please?"

He looks at me quizzically, then sighs.

"Look, I still don't know what happened to you exactly, and I don't need to in order to understand that you need to get away. I know that you're scared, but the sooner we get everything done, the sooner we can leave, and the faster I can get you to safety. I won't be gone long, but if you want to, we can go there together, okay?"

He makes perfect sense, so I nod, but I still reach out for him when he turns to go. Yet instead of grabbing him, I let my hand drop, feeling the shakes start up again.

"Just, you know, be safe, okay? I have a baseball bat right next to the door, if you need it."

Jasper nods, then leaves quickly, probably afraid that if he doesn't I won't let him go after all. Once the door has closed behind him, I consider waiting for him in the kitchen, but he's right, we need to leave as soon as possible.

It takes me a while to get the filthy nightie over my head, and the spray of the shower hitting my skin is uncomfortable, but at the same time, one of the most welcome sensations I've experienced in my entire life. Being a guy, Jasper lacks all kinds of hair products, but I can't really work out the knots in my tresses anyway with just one hand, so an entire bottle of shampoo it is.

I'm still in the shower when he comes back, carrying a small stack of clothes in his arms. He already calls my name when he's two rooms away from the bathroom, trying not to scare me too much, and tries to walk in with his back toward me to give me some privacy, but when I ask him to help me, he eventually looks at me, then steps into the shower with me without undressing first. He's clumsy, yet trying to be gentle, as he helps me with my hair, then washes my back and the part of my body I could only reach with my maimed hand. I know he's terribly uncomfortable because of the hard-on he's clearly sporting, but I do my best to ignore it. Some small part of me is even vain enough to be happy that even battered, bruised, and filthy I can have that effect on a guy, but the majority of me is just glad that all the blood is gone.

A hair tie helps with the mass of still knotted tresses, and Jasper helps me into the jeans and casual clothes he has scavenged from one of the Goodwill donation boxes that I never got to drop off before I went to confront Edward. I'm still wondering about why he didn't get anything lighter, when he hands me an old jacket of his and a motorcycle helmet once I make it back into the kitchen. Seeing my baffled look, he shrugs.

"Much easier to leave undetected that way."

"I'm not sure if wearing a dark visor helmet in a car is exactly inconspicuous," I venture, almost smiling at a hint of my humor returning.

"Well, no, but it's much more common on a motorcycle."

I nod obtusely, then shrug into the jacket with his help. It's too large, but could be worse, and the helmet fits well enough. Once he has changed into dry clothes himself, Jasper quickly packs some of the things still remaining in his house into a backpack, then turns to me looking quizzical again.

"Do you think you can handle carrying that? The bike doesn't have any storage equipment, and with you holding on to me I can't put it on myself."

"I'm not made of porcelain, you know?" I try to put up a brave front, but sliding my arm through the strap still hurts like hell. I manage somehow, and we're good to go.

"I didn't know you had a driver's license," I prompt as he leads me to the motorcycle occupying the sole space in his garage.

"There are many things you don't know about me," he huffs, then looks almost apologetic when he catches my look. "Got the license three years ago. The bike's not mine, and I'll send my friend a check once we've gotten rid of it along the way. He's been talking about getting a faster one anyway."

That's when another not quite insignificant detail of my escape plan occurs to me.

"I don't have any money."

Jasper shrugs, not fazed at all by that admission.

"I have enough stored away to get us by for a while. Plus, we can always get to your bank account later."

"But he'll know if we do."

I don't have to explain who I'm talking about, but Jasper looks almost insulted by my protest.

"You know that I work in IT?"

"Of course, but you don't understand! He has my passport, I'm sure he knows all my account numbers, every single password I ever typed in on my computer or phone, my credit cards and ID-"

Jasper interrupts me before I can ramble myself into full-blown hysterics.

"Because I didn't mean walk into a bank and put down some ID that can be tracked. I'm not a hacker, but I have my resources, and as long as you know your account number, I can get you that money without too much trouble, and without anyone knowing where you are to retrieve it. The moment we leave here, we're gone, and I'll make sure that he'll never find you again. Trust me?"

I don't think I can ever trust anyone again, but there's nothing else I can do but nod. He offers me one last smile before he dons his helmet, then swings himself onto the bike and starts it. With difficulty I manage to climb on behind him, and although my hand is killing me, I do my best to wrap my arms around his middle as he eases the motorcycle out of the garage and onto the street.

The sun is barely painting the sky in red as we hit the city limits, and after that it's the open roads for us.

We only stop when Jasper can barely concentrate anymore, and for me to get some pain killers, then we're off again. Coffee and fast food keep us going until the late afternoon, and we decide to stop in a dingy motel at the outskirts of a small town in the middle of nowhere. I fall asleep from exhaustion almost as soon as my head hits the pillow, but don't protest when Jasper wakes me up a few hours later. We need to keep moving, and as long as he feels able to not kill us in some random ditch, I won't protest.

Three days later we take a longer break, and stay the night at another substandard motel. In the morning, Jasper returns with greasy breakfast, new clothes, and some toiletries. When he sees me scrutinize the pack of black hair dye he shrugs.

"I thought a change would be good. If you want to use it, I can always go for a buzz cut. Might make me look more bad-ass, don't you think?"

Considering the state of my hair the idea doesn't sound too bad for me, either, but in the end I decide to just chop off a liberal portion of my mane before dyeing it, while Jasper attempts to massacre his blond tresses with his beard trimmer. Before things can get out of hand, I force him to sit still on the bed while I take care of his hair cut one-handedly, doing a not-too-bad job of it.

When we leave the motel again, I have to admit that I wouldn't have recognized us anymore myself. Some dark makeup and the new clothes, and I've turned from disheveled refugee into Biker Bitch Barbie, and with his short hair, dark sunglasses, and a white muscle shirt, Jasper looks nothing like the geek I've known for years.

We keep up zig-zagging across the country for another couple of days, then ditch the bike at a steep cliff, and take to hitchhiking instead. The entire time we're waiting for a car to pick us up I'm anxious, but things work way smoother than I expected. The trucker we hitch a ride with is a nice, if gruff, guy, and it only takes a line from Jasper about family trouble, and he doesn't ask about our mutual fading bruises.

At the next truck stop we find another guy with a heart of gold to take pity on two runaways, and, just like that, we disappear.

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><p><strong>See you mid next week for the last chapter!<strong>

**Don't forget, if you have any questions for the TEMC Q&A, or my interview with the FFA blog, don't hesitate to drop them off!**


	28. Chapter 28

**A last, huge thank you to my wonderful betas, V and sheviking, and the best pre-readers and friends anyone could hope for, prassacut & chrissy1201!**

**Thank you everyone who loves the story, and turned this into a great experience for me! Last A/N at the bottom!**

**Now, please, enjoy!**

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><p><em>Several months later...<em>

"What can I get you, ladies?" I chime, ever happy, ever helpful. The girls giggle, as they always do, then try to be all suave and sophisticated.

"I'd like a Cosmo, please!"

"And a Sex on the Beach for me!"

More giggling, but instead of rolling my eyes, I grin at them as I jot down the order.

"Anything else to go with your drinks?"

Thelma, aka Cosmo Girl, shakes her head, but Lucy is only too happy to order a burger and fries. I leave them to their conversation and drop off the drinks order with Sam at the bar, then bounce over to the counter that separates the main room from the kitchen.

"Hey there, gorgeous. One burger with fries, and make it extra juicy for our Juicy Miss Lucy!"

I can hear her laughing behind me at the wordplay, just as I've intended, and Jasper gives me an almost pained look as he plucks the paper the order is scribbled on from between my fingers. Then his usual easy smile returns, and he nods in the general direction of the girls' table.

"Coming up."

I take the opportunity for a short break there as I lean against the counter and watch him put the meat patty and bun onto the grill, flexing the fingers of my right hand automatically. The broken bones have healed remarkably well, and although fine mechanical things are still beyond me, my hand is working well enough again. I know I'm lucky, in so many ways.

While he watches the food closely, Jasper sends me a glance or two, then leans toward me after getting the fries out of the oil.

"Your hand acting up again?"

I shrug; he knows that I'm still in pain some days, but as I've never had dreams of becoming a mariachi, I'll manage.

"I'm good. It's nothing, really."

To underline my words, I smile at him, and he grins right back, although I'm sure I'm the only one who catches the hint of trepidation in his gaze. True enough, when Sam gestures at me with the finished drinks and I bring them over to the girls, they both bat their lashes in the direction of the kitchen, before they lean toward me conspiratorially.

"You are such a lucky girl, Alice. Men like your Emmett are so rare these days!"

"A true Southern gentleman," Thelma adds, then continues to giggle. "Although, I bet he's not always that gentlemanly, or else he could never keep a spitfire like you!"

I do my best interpretation of coy gleefulness, but my smile is real when I nod.

"He's a good catch for sure!"

The burger's done by then and I'm saved from having to keep on simpering, and after bringing it to Lucy's table, a couple of guys walk in that need my immediate attention, so I'm too busy for the girls to drag me into another conversation about the merits of 'my man'. It's not like anything has changed since last Tuesday, when they tried to weasel more details out of me than I divulged the Tuesday of the week before.

The joys of working in the only diner of Bumfuck in the Middle of Nowhere.

Waiting tables keeps me occupied and bouncing around for the next hour, and I'm again taking a brief respite from carrying food and drinks around, when I hear Thelma and Lucy launch into the next round of meaningful discussion over their frou-frou drinks.

"Oh, just look at him; isn't he dreamy! I'd so tap that ass!"

"Me, too!"

They must have wrestled away control over the TV by the bar that's usually displaying some game or other on the sports channel, because I can't for the life of me believe that anyone would find their way into this hole who even its longtime residents would describe as 'dreamy'. They're all hardworking folks, some honest, some not, but few of them have ever seen the Beautiful and Wealthy from up close – one of the reasons why I love being here.

"Can you believe the luck of that girl? Not only does he look like some movie star with that sex hair and all that, no, he's a millionaire no less!"

It is then that a cold shiver runs down my spine, but I do my best to ignore it. My past is my past, and it's bound to stay there, buried. Besides, if I still jumped at every mention of anyone wealthy with good looks, I would have gone crazy months ago. Plus, it doesn't really take much to excite Lucy and Thelma, who both still believe they are beauty pageant material at well past forty.

"Sam, turn up the volume, we wanna hear that report!"

Several of the men groan, and Luke from the table next to the door is already flagging me down for a new round of beer, so it's easy not to pay any attention to the gossip on TV. I'm just returning with a couple of empty glasses when the reporter's voice catches my attention.

"_It is actually the first time since his skiing accident that business tycoon and notorious bachelor extraordinaire Edward Cullen is attending a charity event. We haven't been able to confirm the identity of the new woman at his side yet, but she's rumored to be a nursing student he met at the rehabilitation center he was staying at after his accident."_

I'm like a bystander at a train wreck; I know there will be carnage, and still, I can't look away. Every single muscle in my body locks down, and fear is clawing at my throat.

I've known for months that he's not dead, or at least I've suspected it, because Esme wouldn't have let her precious Golden Boy go without a funeral rivaling that of a president. I've spent the entire time of our flight anxious and paranoid, but as month after month went by without any clue of anyone following us, or even inquiring after us, I've slowly allowed myself to relax, just a little bit. That, if nothing else, goes up in smoke right now, as my eyes flit over the screen to find the achingly familiar face that haunts me more nights than not.

He looks good for someone who has almost bled out on the floor of his own basement dungeon. The image is too gritty to tell, but I think I see a scar at the side of his neck where I stabbed him. How anyone can believe the story the reporter keeps rambling on about – that he impaled himself on his own ski pole while heli-skiing in Alaska – is beyond me, but it's so like him not to tidy over the marks.

And the girl at his side? Of course she has brown hair and brown eyes, and with her barely twenty years she's too gullible and naïve to see what lurks underneath the facade of the perfect predator she's, without a doubt, head over heels in love with already.

Strong hands touch down at my shoulders, then start to work on the knots of my upper back, and I allow myself to relax a little into Jasper's touch. He leans into me, so close that I can feel his breath at my neck when he speaks, low and soothing, and just loud enough for me to hear.

"It's okay; you're safe. He can't reach you here."

I know that he's right – and pray every day that I'm not just deluding myself believing that – but that doesn't do a thing to thaw the block of ice inside of me.

I also know that we've stayed long enough in this town, that we have to move on to the next, because I won't be able to find even a second of rest here anymore. When I finally turn around and look at Jasper, he just nods, and come tomorrow we'll only be an already fading memory here.

Ever since taking off, this has been our modus operandi: find some low paying work in a small town, stay there for a while, then move on. True to his word, Jasper has done a great job re-routing the money in all my accounts, and technically, neither of us would have to work for years to come. We could just hole up somewhere in the mountains, hours away from the next sign of civilization, and wait for the world to forget about us completely. The only problem is, I can't stand isolation anymore.

Changing our names and appearances has just been the first step in what I'd call our transformation, if it was a planned undertaking, but weeks spent on the run have taken their toll on us both. In Jasper, it's less obvious, but after knowing him for years I can see the subtle differences. He's more laid back now but always alert, and it doesn't take much to provoke him when violence is concerned. He's buffed up some, and gotten a couple of tattoos, and combined with his still closely cropped hair and now well-tended beard he does look kind of bad-ass. Sometimes I joke that he just needs to grow out his blond hair again so that I can call him Jax. Inside, he's still the kind soul he's always been, and women in particular catch on to that fast, but the way he gazes at me when he thinks I don't notice keeps most of them at bay.

And me? I don't think my own mother would still recognize me if I didn't tell her that I'm her daughter. I keep my hair in a short, spiky cut now, black as night, fitting to my makeup. I'm still good at the fake smiling, but the hyperactivity that people perceive as cute is my inability to find calm and relax, even for a minute. Sudden, even small noises make me bolt, and I still have trust issues that sometimes get so debilitating that half of the time I need Jasper to talk me down from just running away when someone calls my name. I rarely sleep for more than an hour or two, and spend my nights pacing outside because I can't stay lying in bed, even with a strong, warm body beside me, ready to protect me. Until now, I've slowly but steadily felt that I'm getting better, but I know that tonight will be one of those nights when I can't even stand still for a second.

Even if I could stand the isolation of living alone in a cabin in the woods, reclusive people with enough money to rent one for a month get noticed and draw suspicion. That's why we always look for jobs, and sleep where some charitable soul offers us lodging, usually a small back room in the motel or diner where we find employment. We don't haggle over the joke of a salary that we get, and in turn they never bark at us handing in notice at the end of the month right before we leave. No one really remembers the runaways who are desperate enough to pretty much work themselves ragged just to put food in their mouths, and least of all associates them with a brilliant computer whiz and a high class escort.

Tonight, Jasper doesn't even wait for the morning to pack our things, but instead we leave right after our shift is over and Sam pays us what little money we've earned. It's not too dark outside, the full moon casting the landscape in silver light, as we take off on the decrepit, but still trusty, Harley that is Jasper's one prized possession. He got it a couple of towns back, fulfilling 'Emmett's' dream and leaving Jasper behind. As the sun comes up, we make camp at the end of a gravel trek by a small copse of cypresses, where Jasper huddles in some blankets to catch some sleep while I can pace around freely and watch for anyone approaching for miles.

I stop for a moment to look down at his sleeping form, and even with my heart still beating too fast from the panic that I haven't yet been able to shake off, I manage a gentle smile. He looks so innocent when he sleeps, although I've learned that he can be a fierce protector if the need arises. I know I don't deserve him – and unlike before, it has nothing to do with my job, but instead with the woman I am, the woman I have become. He deserves someone emotionally available, someone who can love him back, not just cherish and appreciate what he does for her.

I won't go as far as to say that I'm dead inside, because I'm still able to feel something, but I doubt that even years in therapy would help me work through my 'issues' – and I use that word lightly, because my problems are more complicated than simple trauma and the inability to trust anyone.

I know that I'm no longer the woman I used to be, and I often feel like part of me never got away from that cell in the basement. Seeing Edward on TV just hammers that knowledge deeper into me, down to my very soul.

That entire setup – attending that soirée with that girl – is a taunt, a trap, and an invitation for me.

A taunt, clearly, because while I might delude myself and believe that he isn't coming after me, he won't just forget. I might be the one that got away, but he'll never let me go. The new girl might have vague physical similarities to me, but I know that is where the semblance ends. I've always been well aware of my own worth, and even if she's a bright kid, she can't have reached the level of education and sophistication that I have, and Edward always so admired. She's his next victim, and he's putting her on display, for me, to tell me one thing clearly: her blood will be on my hands.

It's a trap for the very same reason, because if I'm stupid enough to let him bait me, things will simply end the way they were supposed to be. I might try to tell myself that they were dolls, but I know, deep down, that it's not true. I have no way of telling whether he actively killed them, or just wore them down enough for them to take their own lives, but in the end it's the same. I have no idea how long he's been doing this, but my guess is for a couple of years, judging from Esme's offhand comment about showing up with a new girl every year at that resort.

And an invitation – well, that one is maybe the hardest to fathom, but I know Edward so well that, to me, it makes sense that he'd rather hold a hand out to me than send someone to drag me back. The ultimate victory for him would be my return to him on my own terms, willingly – and the truly frightening thing about it is that there are times when I even consider that option.

Not when I'm surrounded by people, when I work, hear them laugh, am able to share their lives for a couple of hours, soaking it all up like a sponge while being happy to remain at the sidelines. Not when I'm with Jasper, laughing, talking, feeling his warm hand strong in mine. But when I'm alone, lonely and sad, and look into the bottomless pit of my soul, then I can admit that there is something inside of me that is still yearning for Edward, despite everything I know now. It makes me sick of myself, and I think it's the main reason why I haven't let things with Jasper progress beyond a few caresses and a kiss here and there. Jasper, the eternally good guy, thinks that I just need a little more time, while the real reason is that I'm too weak to push him away, but at least strong enough not to betray him like that.

I don't seriously consider returning to Edward, because like he said himself, I'm a survivor; when you're strong enough to try to kill the man you love and get out of that with your sanity at least partly intact, you don't walk right back into the lion's den. I doubt that the temptation will ever grow strong enough, but I also think that it won't completely disappear, either.

While I've never told him about that, I think Jasper knows. That he still wants me, accepts me as the broken thing that I am, gives me hope. I want to love him, want to be the woman he sees in me, and maybe, one day, we'll get there. I doubt we'll ever have children, because I can't risk dragging anyone else into the mess I turned my life into when I dismissed Rose's warnings.

Rose is the only one I've told that I'm still alive, although 'told' is probably stretching things. By working his magic, Jasper has sent a message to her from me – a simple few words that she should be able to make sense of, but don't give away too much.

_I'm okay. You were right. Sorry I didn't listen._

So many days have passed where I wanted to call her, but never did. For one thing, I don't want to endanger Jasper's life, or my own. For another, I don't want to risk hers. I'm sure that Edward realizes that if she suspected his little chamber of horrors, she'd do everything to drag him down, so as long as she keeps going about her life as usual, she's safe. She doesn't like him so she won't ever send one of her girls to him, and the fact that, for whatever reasons, things didn't work out between him and me will be cause enough for her to flag him to everyone she knows. That way, she'll likely keep the message alive, and it will get a lot harder for him to find any more brown haired, brown eyed whores in the future. There's no way of knowing if his current girl is one of us or not, but besides giving myself up in her stead, there's nothing I can do. It's not like that would be a guarantee for anything, anyway.

I hate being afraid. I hate being frustrated. But I love being alive so much more.

As the sun creeps over the sky, I spend the day mourning everything that I've lost, but when Jasper finally crawls out from under his heap of blankets, I'm happy to let him pull me into a warm embrace. Together, we look out over the rolling hills around us, and his mere presence chases the shadows inside of me away, bit by bit at a time. I feel myself smile a little when he presses a soft kiss against my temple, and I close my eyes to just relish the moment.

I can live with the guilt of being the one who got away. I can live with jumping at my own shadow for the rest of my life, and already I feel the paranoia that is gripping me so hard lessen with every day I continue to be free. Really, who's to say that my conviction that I'll never fully get away from Edward isn't just the usual flutter of anxiety you feel when you fall in love with someone else?

I can't say, because I've only really been in love one time in my life. But just because that didn't work out so well doesn't mean it won't happen again, right?

**THE END**

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><p><strong>Thank you again for your appreciation for the sweat and tears that I poured into this story. I'm humbled by your praise. It's been an amazing experience for me!<strong>

**I'll do my very best to reply to all reviews and PMs for this last chapter, but it might take me a while, this week is rather busy.**

**The story, as it is, is everything I wanted to write, and everything I wanted you to know. Now, for the purists, this is where we part ways for TEMC, there won't be any outtakes etc.**

**Yet, because some people are inquisitive, my friend prassacut helped me put together a Q&A that I will post on Friday as an additional 'chapter' here, and on my blog. Feel free to send us questions (review, PM, or on facebook / twitter)!**

**I'm ecstatic about the interview I'll be doing for the FanficAholic Anon blog very soon, if you have any questions ****for that**** (about me, my writing, my stories, my cats, it really doesn't have to be about TEMC!), please send them in until ****Thursday (email: indiecullen AT gmail DOT com)**


	29. Q&A

_**And the Elusive Mr. Cullen is complete. Many of you picked up on what was going on early on, based on little clues that Daria included here and there in her chapters. It didn't spell exactly what was going on, but if you wanted to see it, you knew something was off. **_

_**The funny thing is that it started in the summary. I love that Daria used the word 'fairytale'. We hear or read it, and many of us think "Prince Charming, fairy Godmother and eternal love", when in truth, fairytales are full of cannibalistic witches, parents abandoning their kids in the wood to let them starve to death, murderous stepmothers, and other monsters. So I guess Bella did get a 'fairytale', but since neither Disney nor the Brothers Grimm had their say in it, the bad guy ran free. (Like in the real version of Snow White, Little Red Riding Hood or Hansel and Gretel.) **_

_**Anyway, a few chapters ago, after reading a TEMC thread on A Different Forest, I told Daria that maybe a Q&A could be interesting. She agreed and based on posts, reviews and direct questions you posted, we made this. I hope it will answers all your questions.**_

_**Prassacut. **_

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><p><em><strong>Why did you write this fic and what did you want to say with it?<strong>_

Over my 2.5 years in the fandom I've seen the very same traits of the typical Edward fawned over by the masses that have always put me off, only surpassed by their conclusions in creeping me out. There's nothing romantic about manipulating someone, stalking them, extricating them from their family and friends, and keeping them in a gilded cage.

_**How did the idea came to you? What inspired you?**_

I wrote it because it sounded like a good idea I had on a Saturday evening when I went to the bathroom. Seriously. I've been toying with writing a "morally loose woman" for a while, I have a soft spot for intelligent male characters who act out of line, and this fic was the perfect opportunity to play with both.

If you've read my one-shot _'Bend me, break me'_ you know about my fascination with the human psyche. I can't claim that there was anything I read or saw on TV recently that inspired me to directly, but the theme of the non-positive love story has always intrigued me.

_**First the Elusive Edward.**_

_**Your readers asked about his family, some even think his killing tendency comes from there.**_

I know that the "mommy issue" and "childhood trauma" ideas are very popular, but I dislike them both. Edward himself talked about his family briefly in the chapter where Bella came over to cook for him; he explained that he's the child of an office affair his mother had with one of her employers. He also mentioned that her husband was a drunk, and that leaves to be guessed that his childhood hasn't been the best - but I think that's a sad fact for millions of people, and none of them turn out to be murdering bastards. His biological father paid for his entire education but always stayed distant, they had virtually no contact.

_**What is Edward's job?**_

He's the CEO of his own founded and expanded business, of undefined but without a doubt good reputation, else Rose would have even considered him as a client for her girls. Think corporate shark, but everything strictly legal. Do you really know what Steve Jobs did before he resigned as CEO of Apple?

_**Why does he choose only brown haired, brown eyed girls?**_

Some like blonds, some brunettes. He probably chose brown haired, brown eyed girls because he thinks it's a classy, not-too overtly "look at how pretty I am!" combination. While she escaped, Bella noticed that it's not too strict a guideline, some were probably not natural brunettes, and you can do a lot with colored contacts. Maybe he had a crush on Cindy Crawford in boarding school? Many people have a preferred 'type', and when you're rich enough to order your company of choice from an agency, you probably don't deviate too much from that.

_**What is his motive to kill? **_

He doesn't kill out of malice, or out of spite, and not even out of a need to kill. He loved all the women in bis basement deeply, probably still loves them on some level, even if his feelings might dull or fade over time. In fact, he loved them so deeply that the thought that he could lose them, that they could walk away and want to be with someone else is unbearable for him. He cannot let them go, he had to do everything possible to keep them, even if that meant imprisoning and killing them. It is love, not hate, that forces his hand.

_**Why did he start to kill?**_

Very likely because one day he realized he could, and wouldn't end up rotting in a cell far, far away from his lost love. There are likely a couple of women out there who don't realize how lucky they were in getting away before he reached that point. Since then, his pursuit for love and the perfect woman has taken on a rather methodical step-by-step process that gets modified and improved along the way. It must kill him every time he looses another one.

_**Did he kill anyone beside his twelve girlfriends?**_

He didn't kill anyone he wasn't in love with, and the basement is pretty much his trophy room, so no, he didn't kill anyone who isn't inside. And he didn't kill all his girlfriends, either, just the ones he truly, deeply loved.

_**Why high class escorts?**_

As Edward himself explained, no one misses a prostitute, and most of them are really good at adapting; Also, he felt like it was easier to get under their skin as most were insecure, or had every reason to leave that life if just given a good incentive (like marrying a filthy rich guy). If you consider that most of them likely lead a double life because of their job, it was easier for him to extricate them from their friends and family, and become the center of their lives. And really, like so many readers said about Bella when she decided to quit, no one asks twice why a whore quits, and no one wonders about her not being perfect wife material and just running off when things get ugly.

_**In the end, Edward's girlfriend is a nurse, and they're on TV. Some of your readers think that when he'll kill her, it will be more difficult to hide her disappearance**__._

Just because she has been on TV doesn't mean the media will still care after she disappears, and Edward shows up with new arm candy. Also, not all the girls he dated ended up in his basement, just the ones he fell in love with. When he's not in a steady relationship, he probably showed up with a new woman at his side for every event he attended, and none of them disappeared (at least not because of him).

_**Was he really taunting her by being on TV with his new conquest?**_

Bella isn't exactly sane and coherent about her paranoid ideas, maybe it's all just in her head? After all, it would have been more noticeable if Edward had shown up alone. Just because Bella is obsessed with the idea now that Edward is either taunting her or on the verge of hunting her down doesn't mean that's true.

_**James brought up some questions, too**__**. **_

_**What is your view on James?**_

To me, James is the typical mercenary type. He does what he does for money, and money buys his loyalty, silence, and lack of a moral code.

_**We all know that James used to work for Edward's father, and was a graduation gift from him to Edward. One reader asked if James was sent to work for Edward to keep his "actions" a secret.**_

I doubt Edward's father knew about his son's proclivities as they started coming out later in life. He probably sent James into Edward's employ because he believed that a strong, successful man should have someone to do the dirty work for him, whatever that might be, including overseeing the staff, making sure no one is stealing or selling information of whatever nature to the press and rivals, things like that.

_**Did he know what Edward was doing? Did he help?**_

Yes, James knew what Edward was doing, but probably didn't participate because dealing with the women after they ended up in the basement was some sort of sacred ritual for Edward, and he probably only needed James for procuring chemicals or some low cleanup duties. James' duties are mostly that of the ordinary bulter.

_**If he knew about Edward, why didn't he go to the police?**_

He didn't go to the police because he was paid for his compliance and silence, no questions asked. It was in his best financial interest to keep his employer alive, as well.

_**Was James rude to her from the start to keep her away from Edward? (to protect her)**_

No. He pretty much holds disdain and contempt for all the gullible, naive girls who just see their Prince Charming instead of the calculating monster lurking underneath. I wouldn't call his lack of an attempt to be civil, or even nice, as trying to protect her.

_**Why did he let Bella go?**_

Why shouldn't he have let her go? He had no quarrel with her, and obviously no order from Edward to keep her from leaving. There was no personal gain for him in dragging her back into the cell. His employer's antics are something he tolerates, not actively supports.

_**Are James and Edward related? **_

No, James and Edward are not related.

_**Let's talk about Esme and Carlisle.**_

_**Readers want to know if Esme is Edward's mother.**_

Edward's mother was a temp worker; Esme is the heiress of a very rich and influential family. No, she is definitely not his mother.

_**How did Edward and Esme/Carlisle meet?**_

As Edward explained to Bella, he met Esme through Carlisle. Carlisle was teaching at the college Edward went to, and Edward got intrigued about who held the real power of the Platt emporium, as he very likely saw through the facade and found Carlisle as too incompetent. Carlisle was blinded by Edward's interest, and introduced him to his wife. Esme and Edward must have recognized their own strength and ruthlessness in the other, became friends, and she mentored him. They have a close relationship, but it remains to guess just how much of a friend Edward really sees in her, as he's been playing her for years.

_**So Esme doesn't know what he does with his girlfriends?**_

Nope. And considering where they all came from, the excuse that heartbroken Edward must have given every time for their disappearance was easier to believe than suspecting that he keeps them locked up in his basement. Bella was very likely an exception as Esme genuinely liked her, but she wouldn't have inspired about Bella's whereabouts after Edward told her the usual story. Esme's loyalty lies with Edward, not the hussies who keep disappointing him.

_**What is Edward's relationship with Carlisle? What does Edward want from Carlisle?**_

I don't think Edward wants anything from Carlisle, but as he can't exactly avoid him, he does his best to ignore him. Sometimes Carlisle proves useful in Edward's plotting to ensnare the girls, or try to find out what they are made of, but I'm sure he wouldn't care if Carlisle wasn't around (but also not in an elated sort of way).

_**Why does Esme put up with Carlisle?**_

As Edward and Esme both explained, Carlisle has always been a tool for Esme in the way she handles things. She married him partly to spite her father, she keeps him as the figurehead of her business to lie in wait and see if people realize who has the real power, and she uses him to play her other little mind games. Very likely, they've never been in love - he loved her money and status she could give him, she needed an extra hand to do what she wanted. They both continue to profit from their arrangement, otherwise they would have parted ways a long time ago.

_**Did Edward ask Carlisle to be one of Bella's clients? And if yes, what was his purpose?**_

He probably didn't even need to ask, seeing as it was the only opportunity Carlisle ever got at taking 'revenge' on Edward. It certainly served as a test, to see how she reacted, whether she perceived what happened as real, or could see through Carlisle's bullshit and shrug it off as the before agreed role play that it was - and a good way to leave the girls vulnerable, either directly when Carlisle proved to be an ass, or by guilt because of how they got the assignment, and practically "cheated" on Edward.

_**Was Carlisle trying to scare/warn her? **_

Scare? No. Warn? He told her to the face that there were others before her, and how they ended up - not sure if that's a warning or just stating of facts, but I'm sure he would have preferred her to go back and be around, maybe even available to him, than disappear like all the others. He was certainly more honest with her than his wife or Edward.

_**Did he really not know what happened to the other girls?**_

How should he have known? To him, Edward used them as long as they were fun, then threw them away like a soiled tissue or broken toy. That was all he needed or wanted to know. He might have asked around a couple of times, maybe in the hopes to score again, but like everyone else he probably figured that after a tour at Edward's arm most women had enough money to do something else with their lives.

_**Now on to Bella, although to be honest it's still all about Edward. **_

_**How long was it between the time Edward killed Tanya and when he hired Bella?**_

Several months. He grieves for every lost love before he finds it in himself to set out again.

_**Where was Edward each time Bella woke up alone?**_

I'm baffled not many people wondered about that. Of course, he was in the basement, discussing his feelings for Bella with Tanya (and yes, for Tanya it was with the girl who came before her, and so on).

_**Did he "talk" to Tanya outside of the phone call in Paris?**_

A lot; just because she was dead didn't mean she wasn't a good listener, and as his beloved still, his confidente.

_**Did Edward not get Bella a ring because he secretly didn't want it to get out**_

_**that they were engaged in case he did end up killing her?**_

As he said, he panicked, that's why he rushed the engagement. There were only days between that and Bella confronting him, he simply didn't have the time to sit down with her and find the right one. He knew that Bella was the kind of woman who would have liked to have a say in the choice (if only because she never even let herself fantasize about being engaged before), and he's not the type of man to just buy a ring millions of other people could have gotten as well. If things hadn't gone down, she would have gotten her engagement ring.

_**When were Bella's things bugged and who physically did it? **_

Probably the day after Edward realized that he was falling for her (when she came over and cooked for him), and he probably had one of his tech guys do it.

_**What happened to Bella's parents? **_

Nothing, why should anything have happened to them? They weren't very close, they didn't know about Bella's real life, and she didn't call them afterwards because she was afraid they'd be among the top three people Edward might monitor to hunt her down.

_**If not for the turn of events and Bella and Edward did actually get**_

_**married/have kids, do you think she would have eventually found the rooms**_

_**downstairs?**_

Yes, if he kept his trophies there she would, one day, have stumbled over them. If things really had worked out, though, he might have considered moving them to another location. He's very methodical in what he does, once secure that this was the one time things were different, he would have done everything possible to ensure no unnecessary risks. But considering that he did manipulate her, bug her, drug her, scare her, lock her up, that's an entirely rhetorical question. His fault was not making a mistake later, but doing all those things instead of having a serious, honest relationship with Bella in the first place. They were doomed from the moment they met.

_**If Bella hadn't seen James leave Jasper's place and hadn't realized Edward was behind it as well as the bugging, would Bella and Edward have stayed together and happy?**_

No, because it wouldn't have taken her long to figure out that he had turned her upside down and isolated her from everyone she knew before she met him, which would have led to a confrontation - you know the rest.

_**If Bella wouldn't have killed Edward right after having sex, would he have maybe let her go, convinced that she really still did love him?**_

Now we know that she didn't kill him, but no, he wouldn't have let her go, like he didn't let any of the other 12 go. It wasn't important anymore if she still loved him or not, she had turned against him and rejected him, and he couldn't trust her after that anymore.

_**How long did Bella stay locked in the basement?**_

About a week, something between 6-8 days.

_**Why didn't she go to the police? In her state and Edward's blood on her clothes, wouldn't she have enough proof?**_

Circumstantial, yes. In a TV show, it might have been enough. But if you consider that Edward knows important people everywhere, that he has a sparkling white vest before the law, and that it would have been easy to suspect that Bella is the vindictive, psychopathic scorned ex, who happens to be a whore, and the evidence could be fabricated, the police wouldn't have barged into Edward's house right away. Any later, and they would very likely not have found any proof there. Yet, even in the unlikely case they anyone would have believed her, that they would have found a judge ready to sign the search warrant for the property of one of the city's greatest benefactors and personal 'friend' of politicians everywhere, and they'd stumbled on Edward's little Chamber of Horrors, Bella wouldn't have been safe. A man as wealthy as Edward could have hired a slew of hitmen via third persons easily, even from death row. Also, a lot of people would have known about Bella - nurses, doctors, and other patients at the hospital, everyone at the police station, lawyers, interns, secretaries. Even witness protection might not have kept her safe. Her best chance was to completely disappear, fast and without leaving any trail. That, at least, was her reasoning.

_**Bella didn't go to Rose for help to keep her safe but she had no problem going to Jasper, why?**_

She didn't go to him for help, but just to warn him; he offered to help her. That's a difference.

_**Bella was friends with Jane, one of your reader wants to know what happened to her.**_

Nothing, she's still going about her life as she has before.

_**Now we get to all the questions about the girls and Edward's Modus Operandi**__**. **_

**Was Edward really talking to Tanya? **

Yes, a lot actually. And yes, he knew she was dead, but that only made her a better listener.

_**Why did he only mention her if there were twelve others? **_

Because she was the last before Bella, the "newest" one he was grieving over and confiding in. With Tanya, it was the one that came before her, and so on.

_**Why was Tanya so special if Edward went for brunettes? **_

Because she was the one before Bella. And don't even say "blue eyes, strawberry blond"; it was never mentioned how she actually looked, and Bella noticed that some might have dyed their hair; Also, the brown/brown was a general direction, intelligence and sophistication were much more important to him. He noticed her at a party, he wanted to get to know her, the rest is history.

_**Now we know Edward is into taxidermy. Does starving them have anything to do with preserving the bodies, or is there another reason?**_

The main reason to keep them at minimal nourishment is to make them weak - the weaker they are, the less resistance they can put up, the sooner they give up, you get the picture. The fact that slightly looser skin and an empty GI tract make everything a lot easier wasn't a downside for sure.

_**Was starving them the way for him to kill them or did he kill them another way? **_

No, he'd never let any of them suffer this long, or die such a horrible death. Some might have committed suicide; a quick and relatively painless death like suffocation with a pillow or injection was probably his preferred method.

_**Is Edward into necrophilia?**_

No.

_**What was Edward's ritual? Your readers want to know how long he starved them before killing them, what he did with the bodies exactly and how long before he went looking for a new girl.**_

There's a very good reason why he never explained that to Bella (besides her not wanting to know) and that's called "mystery". But, in short, about a week until he felt he could let go, formalin based embalming, and how ever long it took him to get over her, a few months to almost a year, probably.

_**How do you stuff a human?**_

I only have a degree in molecular biology, not medicine, nor do I know a professional ME or someone who works at a funeral home, so my guess is as good as yours! Embalming isn't that hard to do, though.

_**Did you always know that they would both survive?**_

Yes.

To me, an open end where it will always remain uncertain whether she really got away but will spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, or if he will one day snap and come after her, ringing the door bell Hannibal Lecter style, was the ideal ending.

_**One of your readers asked: I believe you mentioned at some point that the story would be around 30 chapters but with one chapter left to go, I'm curious if there was a change, however slight, and what that is?**_

No change. When I wrote the first outline, the story was 19 chapters long, but I knew already that the number would deviate as I actually sat down and wrote it (I usually don't do written outlines, and didn't want to be too finicky about this one as I quickly feel limited by them). In the end it got down to 28 chapters, because some things had to be elaborated on, or worked out in more detail. A few ideas didn't take as many chapters as planned, so the number kept fluctuating. The way I write, facts only become facts when I write them, before that they are ideas, and there's no way of saying just how many chapters they will take to become facts.

_**Some readers made comments about the tagging of TEMC not being the right one. What is your stance on that? **_

As my friend C researched from a literature dictionary:

[Angst] means a character has to deal with physical or psychological stress situation which are leading to worry, confusion, emotional and/or physical pain, depression etc. Examples for angst are abuse, rape, messy divorces, and other emotional traumas.

The site only gives two options for both genre and character tags.

Why I went with romance / angst? For me, the story is, above everything else, a love story. That doesn't mean it has to have a happy ending, it doesn't mean the characters have to end up together, it doesn't even say anything about it being a positive or nurturing kind of love. Love is messy, it makes you blind and do idiotic things, it often borders on obsession, and comes with a whole slew of negative emotions like jealousy and hatred as well.

Even after everything that happened, they still love each other (for Bella we know, with Edward we have to guess, but why should he have changed his mind if, before, he never could?). They are perfect for each other, even so far that you could say they are meant to be together. The bond between them will never break, they'll never be able to fully give themselves to someone else, and it's debatable if they'd really want to. It might be unhealthy, sick, and twisted, but it's still love, thus the 'romance' tag.

95% of the story revolved around Edward and Bella, and them as a couple, one way or another, that's why I used the E/B tags for the characters.

_**What part did you have the most fun writing?**_

Bella's escape. Best (and creepiest) lemon ever. Plus, I loved exploring her inner conflict along the way, it was great.

_**Have you published, or would you consider publishing, any original work?**_

Zap on over to the "next" chapter, A Note.

_**Will there be a sequel? Outtakes of any character's POV?**_

No.

_**Is there something you want to tell your readers?**_

I am humbled by the support and openness many of you showed. You're a great bunch of people. Thank you.


	30. A Note

I'm happy to tell you all that I've written a book! (well, actually more than one, but _this_ one I think will interest you the most).

I rewrote (so I didn't just use this fic, but just the central plot idea) TEMC, and I'm happy to present to you: **Hunter & Prey by Kira Barker!**

Synopsis:  
><em>Penelope Thompson loves her life. She has everything she wants. With her beauty, charm, and intelligence, she is at the top of her game and is one of the most sought after escorts at her company. She chooses her clients carefully and provides them with much more than just a great time between the sheets. Yet now at the age of 33, she is questioning just how much longer she has in the business. Life might be great, but sometimes it gets lonely to only ever be what others want to see in her, without true intimacy.<em>

_Darren Hunter has made a killing by being one of the best lawyers in Chicago. Renowned for winning any case, he has built up quite the reputation. He has a new beautiful woman attached to his arm every few months and is what every guy desires to be: wealthy, intelligent, successful, and has the looks that kill._

_It is now time for Darren to choose his new "flavor of the season" and it seems as if Penelope has caught his eye. As things heat up between them, Penelope starts to feel as if life is turning into a fairy tale-if not for the fact that one by one, evidence is mounting up that the elusive Mr. Hunter has his own skeletons in the closet. Will his past come to catch up with her? And why do all the women in his life suddenly disappear?_

Genre: Thriller / Horror Erotica. Ebook exclusive to amazon (for now) - you can find the link in my profile!

Now why would you consider buying the book? Maybe I can help!

- You love supporting Indie authors

- You want to support me in my insane endeavor of becoming a full-time writer.

- You've been wanting to read the story again, anyway.

- You love reading professionally edited novels with great covers.

- You know someone who'd love to read a sizzling hot book full of intrigue!

- You need an antidote for the holiday madness.

- You want to compare the fic version to the book version.

OR:

If you not a fan of p2p books (although all my fics are still online, even the two I have converted, so I didn't exactly "pull" anything) but you still like my writing, why not sign up for my mailing list? From here on out, everything that I'm going to publish will be original fiction as I'm done re-imagining the two stories that have always been closest to my heart.

If you are worrying now that the fanfic will disappear just because I've used the plot to write a book - worry not! I have no intention whatsoever to pull this fic. As my own publisher, I'm at liberty to decree that I want both versions out there in the world, and I'm making use of that. The book is NOT the fic. The characters are different, the story is (to some extent), too, and I feel like neither version disqualifies the other.

Why did I write the book?  
>Well, a writer can only hear the words "you should publish this!" so many times before they start thinking about it. But that wasn't my main drive. Even though TEMC was a long shot from your average fanfic, it still IS fanfic. H&amp;P is the original story I felt I wanted to write if it wasn't using set-up characters and expectations. There's still love. And obsession. And there will be a sequel to the book.<p>

If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to ask! Preferably logged in so I can reply ;) Or feel free to accost me on FB or twitter on either of my accounts.

Get Hunter & Prey now! And the sequel - Bait - will be out in Spring 2015!

Thank you all so much for your support. It really means the world to me to know that so many of you read my story, and still continue reading it!


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